


(with not enough time)

by plinys



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3636660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's assigned a routine mission - to take out the step-son of one of London's most well known drug dealers - though all of that changes when he meets Eggsy and finds himself unable to take the shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I wrote this drabble over on tumblr (if you read the drabble this chapter is an expansion on that part), and then I couldn't get the idea out of my head and wrote this long fic. I've got about three chapters done so far, but a pretty detailed outline, so should life go according to plan this will all turn out well. 
> 
> Rating is M for now, even though this chapter isn't very M, but it may go up to E if i work up the nerve to write more than like 'vaguely alluded to' smut. Also tags will be updated accordingly as the fic progresses.
> 
> (Also sadly this fic is currently unbeta'd since most of my betas are from the marvel fandom and I haven't been able to get them to convert, but if you're willing/interested, please hit me up!)

The file opens under Harry’s fingers with ease, displaying pictures of his next mark along with the necessary information.

It’s a routine mission, if what they do could ever really be considered routine.

The name on the file reads _Gary Baker:_ step-son of one of London’s biggest drug dealers (though rumor has it he’s into more than just drugs these days), dropped out of the marines (dishonorable discharge though the exact details are undisclosed), genius IQ with test scores through the roof (as well as near olympic level athletic abilities) but held back by an extensive arrest record (multiple counts of robbery, particularly grand theft auto).

“Forty Thousand Euros,” Merlin stresses, “that’s how much they’re offering for this kid.”

 _Kid_ – because that’s what he is, barely into his twenties and grinning in vast majority of the photographs. He had to be into some serious crime for somebody to put such an expensive bounty out on him while he was still so young.

“That’s quite a large sum of money,” Harry muses, aiming for casual, though they both know better.

“It’s a large sum of money that we desperately need.”

“Alive or dead?”

“Does it matter?”

“Call it curiosity.”

He can’t see the other man, but the voice in his ear heaves out a slightly annoyed sigh, and Harry can very much imagine the expression that must have settled onto the familiar face.

“Your mission is to _terminate_ the mark as cleanly as possible, in and out without anybody seeing anything, that’s the deal we made.”

“With who?”

“That’s classified.”

“And any further information-“

“Is also classified.”

“Last time I checked we weren’t hired assassins,” Harry’s voice holds a note that’s clearly more than minor annoyance. It gets ignored, as expected.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

There’s a bitterness there that wouldn’t have been there years before, Harry chooses not to comment on that, and instead turns his eyes back to the file.

“I’m assuming you’ve already calculated the best way for me to execute this job?”

“Every Wednesday at eighteen hundred hours young Mr. Baker picks up his sister from daycare-“

He tries not to cringe at the image of that. The young drug dealer who won’t be making it in time to meet his sibling, bleeding out in some dark alley instead. Certainly, it was all just business, and he’s killed plenty of people before, but as he stared down at the file, catching sight of the young man in the photo, a boyish grin on his face, there was a second where he felt something that was almost like guilt.

Really it was such a shame to see a pretty face going to waste.

“-you alright there Galahad,” Merlin’s voice comes in to focus again, cutting off his train of thought.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine, as you were saying?”

\---

He had expected to run into his target in approximately ten minutes, according to the carefully scheduled assassination plans that Merlin had wired to him.

Those plans, went to shit fast, as Harry rounding a corner ended up face to face with his target.

Or more like the mark’s face to Harry’s chest, then the mark’s bottom onto the hard ground with a noise of surprise followed by a string of very colorful profanity.

“Sorry about that, bruv,” the mark – Gary - says, his eyes darting up wide as they meet Harry’s, “in a bit of a rush, wasn’t looking, and all.”

“That’s quite alright,” Harry replies with all the smoothness of a professional, “you’re running from someone?”

“Eh, it’s complicated,” he says, scrambling up now, without bothering to dust off his clothing. Though his hands do quickly go to his pockets, checking for something that Harry cannot see, and relaxing ever so slightly as he seems to find whatever he was looking for.

That relaxation is gone a second later, when the mark turns back to look at Harry, and notices the pistol which had been drawn while he looked away.

Harry’s prepared for the panic, the begging for his life, or even the kid trying to make a run for it – what he is not prepared for is the slightly dismayed but accepting look on Gary’s face before the words, “not you too,” roll off his tongue.

“Too?”

“You with them, yeah,” he explains, nodding his head backwards, or upwards, since that had been the direction that the young man had been coming from when he descending quite literally into his space, “trying to kill me? I ain’t sure what the fuck I did to deserve this, but honestly I’m a bit sick of having you blokes shooting at me, can tell when a fight’s been lost. I’m not even fucking armed.”

Of course there are others that are after him, if Merlin’s associates had been able to find out about the bounty then there was no doubt other groups were interested as well.

He just hadn’t thought that he would run into anybody else quite so soon, this was supposed to be an easy in and out sort of job.

Though it was far too late for that.

“I have to admit, you’re a bit more _posh_ than that lot,” Gary continues, this time Harry notices as the younger man’s eyes sweep over him, in a sort of appraising motion, “at least I get a nice view, before I kick the bucket. Just make it quick, yeah?”

The voice in his ear is stern, saying “take the shot.”

He’s spent a lot of his life following orders, always doing what he was told, never questioning the motives of his superiors.

Until that moment, the one where the kid rocks forward on his toes, before slipping his eyes shut. There’s something about the way he accepts it all, so open and trusting of somebody he’s just met - somebody who is very clearly intending to end his life, that stops Harry in his tracks.

He’s not sure to somebody who doesn’t fight back.

It makes him wonder what sort of life one would have to come from, in order to just stand there and accept their final call, without any sort of hesitation.

And rationally he knows that this is the part where he’s supposed to say yes, take the shot and honor the kids final request, but instead he finds himself saying the words, “I’m not going to kill you?”

That gets his attention, Gary’s eyes flashing open at once, looking way too hopeful for any of this to be fair, “you’re not?”

The voice that he had been ignoring in his ear mutters a similar statement in a slightly pissed Scottish brogue, that Harry continues to ignore, this time reaching up to turn off the recording function and silence his handler.

“No, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out,” Harry replies, “now Mr. Baker why don’t we get out of here, and-“

“Unwin.”

“Pardon?”

“My last name, yeah, it’s Unwin,” he explains, stressing the word, “Eggsy Unwin, that’s what I go by, not you know, that other stuff.”

Well, this situation just got more and more interesting, didn’t it?

“Right well, Mr. _Unwin,_ ” Harry says, his eyes fixing on a point just past the mark’s shoulder, where two men (dressed in the sort of clothing that Harry would have jokingly labelled as _goon-wear_ years before when he had been new to all of this) finally made it back down to where their target was, “if you wouldn’t mind getting behind me while I take these two out we can be on our way.”

“Yeah, on it.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter two, from Eggsy's pov this time. Chapters will involve switches in pov, so yeah?

He’s still not entirely sure how he got to be _here_.

One second he had been on his phone (to Jamal about the next weeks supply), and the next second his phone was on the ground with a bullet through the screen (a real shame since Eggsy never managed to get around to the whole ‘memorizing people’s numbers thing’) and he was running for his life.

Running for his life was not an entirely new concept.

Running for his life from people with guns, who he couldn’t get to back off with the promise of drugs or other favors was a bit more alarming.

Running for his life with somebody that looked like something straight out of a fucking _James Bond_ movie, well that was a whole new adventure.

“You MI-6?”

“Afraid not,” the guy, whose name Eggsy still didn’t know, says in between shots.

“Interpol?”

There’s a dismissive snort at that one.

“But you’re English, yeah?”

“Last time I checked.”

“You some kind of merc then?”

“That’s certainly closer than the last two,” the man agrees, but his tone is still vague and not at all helpful. Eggsy means to mention that, but is cut off when the man speaks up, “would you mind saving your breath and focusing on running before I change my mind and shoot you myself.”

Eggsy grimaces.

It was easy to forget that his temporary savior had been his would be assassin not moments before.

“You got a name, or should I call you Mr. Bond?”

“Galahad,” he answers.

“Like the knight?”

“I’m mildly surprised you know that.”

“I’m mildly offended-” Eggsy starts in a mimic of the other man’s tone, only to stop with a small noise of alarm as he nearly ends up with a bullet through his left arm.

“What did I say about less talking and more moving?”

“I’m good at multitasking!”

“I have yet to actually see proof of that fact. Now, if you would kindly focus on running, then we could-”

“Where are we going? Cause I was supposed to pick up Daisy, but fuck - that’s not happening now, mum’s gonna be fucking pissed,” Eggsy says.

He should probably call her and mention that, but his phone was a bit out of order, and dying was still something that seemed likely.

Honestly, he was pretty sure he was a gone about five minutes ago though, so this was at least a little bit of an improvement in that regard.

“Your priorities are astounding.”

“You know if you have another gun-”

“Not a chance, Mr. Unwin,” Galahad cuts him off, “I’m not about to arm a mark.”

“A mark?”

“Target, Mr. Unwin,” he clarifies, “I’m not about to arm somebody who in all likelihood will turn on me the second I do so.”

And that stings a bit.

Eggsy still hasn’t figured out what it is he’s done.

Yeah, there was the thing with Rotti’s car, but that was enough to get him a black eye in a bar fight, not a shootout between James Bond - correction, _Galahad_ \- and the ‘Russian mob’.

“Right, you got some other plan or are we fucked-”

“It’s nearly rush hour on the tube, if we can make it there, I believe we should be able to lose them in the crowd.”

“The next stop’s not for two blocks?”

“Which would be why I told you to save your breath and work on the running away.”

\---

They lose the mobsters in the tube as predicted, and Eggsy’s not sure why he breathes a sigh of relief since technically he’s still not safe. But there’s something about the way Galahad presses a hand to his back, leading him through the crowd that makes him feel less panicked than before.

Which suddenly allows a chance for reflection.

He tries to keep his voice down, (because they’re still surrounded by people - people who are already glancing at them anxiously from time to time, no doubt taking in Eggsy’s chav wear and Galahad’s _James Bond_ suit, with a sense that something is amiss) when he asks, “so where to now, bruv?”

“I’m taking you to a safe location until I can determine where to go from there.”

“You mean whether to pop two in the back of my head or not,” Eggsy says, scanning for the exits as the words leave his mouth.

“As I told you before, Mr. Unwin, I don’t intend to kill you.”

“But you did,” he says, not noticing that his voice is raising, “back there, you were going to-”

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“I have still yet to figure that one out.”

“Right, okay, fine, but let me know when you do, yeah,” Eggsy says, casting another anxious glance around them, “or fuck, when you change your mind?”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

“Good, good, I guess,” he groans, eyes now moving to rest on the figure of Galahad.

When he’d first bumped into the other man he’s thought that he was fit - of course, he had been in a bit of a rush then and hadn’t meant to take a long look - though now that he was able to, the feeling certainly didn’t go away.

He’d always liked a man in a suit, never had a chance to get up and close to one unless he was dealing, so this was a nice change.

Or perhaps _nice_ wasn’t the best word for it.

“Do you know why the fuck they were chasing me,” he asks, after a moment, because that’s the one question that had been plaguing his mind since the first shot in the alleyway.

“Likely for the same reason I was intending to.”

“And that is?”

“There’s a bounty out for you head, my employers were interesting in that sum and sent me in to do the job, so to speak,” Galahad explains, “I’m assuming those men had similar employers.”

“So, you’re like a fucking assassin.”

“Of a sort,” he says with a nod, “Mr. Unwin, there’s forty thousand euros being offered for the first person who can guarantee that you cease to exist-”

“Holy shit.”

“A frightening prospect I’m sure.”

“No, it’s - fuck,” he’s probably hyperventilating, feels a bit like his lungs are giving up on him, because there’s the idea of that sum of money. It’s something he’s never even dreamed about before.

The reality is, that he’s never been worth shit before, everyone’s been quick to point that out - the only reason he gets away with so much is because Dean and his mum are a thing - and even then, he’s heard the words ‘not worth the trouble’ too many times.

Forty thousand euros, though.

That’s how much he was worth now.

It was a frightening prospect.

Also a tiny bit thrilling.

He’s not sure why the words, “didn’t know I was worth much,” slip out of his mouth, but they do, and thankfully he’s looking away so he misses the pitying look in the other man’s eyes.

“To somebody you are.”

“I mean, it’s bloody awful, right,” Eggsy admits, “but at the same time - it’s fucking amazing.”

“I’m not sure I quite follow.”

Of course, posh Mr. Assassin wouldn’t understand.

“You know I ain’t never done nothing worth that. I’m not - they’ve got the wrong fucking guy,” he says, “they have to.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that now, won’t we?”

“I guess so.”

“In any case, this is our stop,” Harry says, his hand back between Eggsy’s shoulder blades pushing him forward, “unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“It’s not like I can go home, can I?”

“Not likely.”

“Then, yeah, lead the fucking way.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the kudos and comments so far! 
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to [Ali](http://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishlyali/pseuds/foolishlyali) for beta-ing this chapter :)

He set them up in a hotel for the night, under a familiar (yet hopefully untrackable) alias.

It wasn’t the best of situations, and certainly not ideal, but at this point he was already going against orders - best not to ask for too much trouble.

The hotel itself hadn’t asked any questions, but given their reputation as the sort of place to have illicit nightly affairs, he could only imagine what they had assumed when he purchased the room.

Eggsy lets out a low whistle when he opens up the door to the hotel room, “Ain’t this place just the Ritz?”

Certainly the room’s nice, a bit small for Harry’s tastes, with only one bed, a desk area, and a small couch, but it was high enough up, with a small window and balcony that Harry could use for _business_ if need be, so it fit for the occasion.

“It’s decent enough.”

The noise he gets in reply is a cryptic one, but a second later Eggsy is crossing the room to throw himself down onto the bed seemingly without a care.

As he does so, Harry turns his attention to locking the door, sliding the deadbolt in place, along with the standard lock. The extra protection necessary in this case.

“Could fit my mum’s whole apartment in here,” Eggsy says, his voice still carrying the wondrous tone he had adopted the second they walked in the building, “The fucking Ritz, bruv.”

“You’ve never stayed in a hotel before?”

“Not for more than a few hours, and that’s just business, you know?”

So perhaps the assumptions of the receptionist hadn’t been that far off after all. It wasn’t hard to imagine it; people who were on the wrong side of the law often had such affairs. Though for some reason he found himself mildly irritated about the idea of _Eggsy_ being involved in them.

“And most those places were fucking dumps, creaking beds and-”

“That’s quite enough,” Harry cuts him off.

Imagining it had been bad enough, he certainly wasn’t comfortable hearing about it.

“Sorry, bruv, didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities,” Eggsy replies, but he doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest, “It’s just work.”

“Speaking of _work_ ,” Harry starts, because there’s a number of things that they actually should be talking about - such as what they were going to do now, since Harry was technically going against orders to protect somebody that he hardly even knew for an unexplainable reason, “I was thinking of a solution for our predicament which may save your life.”

That gets the kid’s attention at once, but there’s still an understandable amount of apprehension in his gaze, “What sort of solution?”

“I would like to know what it is that you’ve done or know, that has made you such a highly priced mark,” Harry explains, “I believe that in exchange for that information, my employers might be able to offer you some sort of sanctum.”

“I ain’t no snitch.”

He brought a hand up to rub at his temples with just a hint of exasperation.

Honestly, Harry should have known better; Eggsy had defiance clearly written on his face since the first instance that they met. He should have assumed that this wouldn’t be easy.

“Mr. Unwin, the men you would be _snitching_ on are likely the same ones who put a hit out on your head.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he insists foolishly, “because I’ve got one principal, bruv. No matter what, I ain’t a fucking snitch.”

“There’s no honor amongst your sort of people-”

“ _My sort of people_ , what the bloody hell does that mean?”

“I believe you know what I mean,” Harry says in an unpatronizing tone, “Now, Mr. Unwin, everything will be a lot easier if you just-“

“For me or you,” Eggsy cuts him off.

“Pardon?”

“Who’s this gonna be easier for?” he elaborates, looking less angry this time. There’s something like shame there in his eyes, or anxiety; it’s a complex emotion that Harry can’t put his finger on right away. “‘Cause the way I see it, I’ve got an expiration date hanging over my head. Suppose, I tell you what you want to hear, then who’s to say the next thing you do won’t be to shoot me in the fucking head?”

“I already told you that I wouldn’t-“

“I can’t run either, cause then the rest of ‘em have an easy target,” Eggsy continues, “either way, I’m dead. Keeping these secrets, it’s all I’ve got left, ya see?”

There was a certain logic in that he supposed.

A highly misconstructed logic, but the sort of thing that somebody who had led a rather unfortunate life might have come up with.

“Alright then,” Harry says, after a long moment.

“Alright? You’re just gonna let it drop?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, good then,” Eggsy replies, before tacking on a quick, “Thanks.”

This is almost all worth it to hear the reverent tone Eggsy has as he says thanks.

“You’re welcome,” Harry says, “Now, why don’t you get some rest? We’ll be here all night, and while you rest I’m going to make some phone calls, see if any of my contacts are more willing to give up information regarding this _situation_.”

“I don’t mind staying up,” he says, suddenly sitting up alert even though it’s clear that the firefight and following run had worn down the younger man, “I can keep watch or-”

“You need your rest. Depending on what news I get, tomorrow could be eventful.”

“Or it could be my last fucking day on Earth,” Eggsy stubbornly insists, “don’t want to miss a second, cause I decided to nap for a bit.”

“Mr. Unwin-”

“I’m wide awake.”

Harry sighs, “There’s no need to lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

Harry fixes a scrutinizing glare on Eggsy at those words, his eyes sweeping over the young man lounging on the hotel bed in an appraising fashion. He looks sinful, but also notably tired. Though most obvious of all is his clear anxiety, the way Eggsy’s arms tighten around himself, as well as his refusal to meet Harry’s gaze.

He’s clearly hiding something.

“What’s really the matter?”

“You haven’t changed your mind, right? About me being worth the trouble and better alive than dead?” The questions come out in a rush, almost too fast to be caught, but Harry manages it.

“Mr. Unwin-”

“Eggsy, just call me Eggsy.”

“Eggsy,” Harry says, starting again, “I haven’t changed my mind. And in any case, if I wanted you dead, you already would be.”

“That’s some fucked up reassurance, bruv.”

“It’s a true one nevertheless,” Harry insists, “I have every intention of letting you live through the night; if that’s the only thing keeping you awake still, then rest assured you are safest with me around.”

Eggsy doesn’t respond to that, not verbally at least. But Harry can see the tension ease slightly from his body, before he rolls over in the bed, turning away from Harry and lying down once more.

“Good night, Eggsy.”

He’s greeted with silence once more. Able to perceive a dismissal when he receives one, Harry turns to his phone, scrolling through his contacts for anyone who might have information, but would not tip off Kingsman about his current movements.

Logically, the first step would have been to report into Merlin, but there was something about the way his handler had stressed the word _classified_ that had made him hesitant to do so.

He’s so caught up in making plans that he nearly misses when the silence breaks; it’s minutes later, from a voice that’s barely more than a whisper, “Good night, Galahad.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in less than 24 hours!? Today really is your lucky day!
> 
> (Also check it, the total chapter count is up there now, so cool yeah?)

He wakes up and for a second forgets where he is.

Eggsy tries, before the fog of sleep clears his mind, to figure out why the bed he’s lying on feels so plush, or why the morning sun streaming in through the window seems brighter than usual.

Then it all clicks into place - the running for his life, forty thousand euros, _Galahad_ -

Eggsy’s eyes scan the room until they settle on the figure of the other man. For some reason he had expected the assassin to share the bed with him - the king was more than big enough for the two of them - but instead found him lying on the room’s couch, clearly asleep.

He had fallen asleep the night before to the sounds of Galahad speaking Russian over the phone in quiet, rushed tones; there had been something oddly soothing about the sound of the other man’s voice.

Even though Eggsy had not understood what he was saying, save for the rare times he caught his name being mentioned or _Gary Baker_ \- which was apparently the name whoever had put a hit out on him had labeled him as - the way Galahad spoke, all smooth syllables, and near silent footsteps as he paced about the room had a way of putting Eggsy at ease.

Though thinking about that brought up the memory of why he was here - somebody wanted him out of the picture and was willing to pay what (by Eggsy’s standards) was an obscene amount of money to insure that reality.

He’d been thinking about it a lot as he had tried to fall asleep.

Bluffing with Galahad had worked well enough, but in all honesty Eggsy didn’t have the slightest idea why all of this was happening.

It was a bit flattering and mostly terrifying.

He could already feel the headache coming back as he tried to figure things out again, and coupled with the twinges in his muscles from all of yesterday’s exertion, he wasn’t keen on having that headache grow.

Taking his mind off of all of that was the obvious solution.

His hands moved to his jacket pockets without any real thought, skipping past the small bags of more powerful substances, in order to pull out a package of cigarettes.

Given the circumstances he really couldn’t risk getting too high, but at the same time he needed the comfort of a smoke.

Moving as quietly as possible, as so not to wake Galahad, Eggsy moved out to the hotel’s balcony, pulling back the blinds and unlocking the sliding glass door to slip outside.

It was nice to be out in the morning air, and the view from up here made London look completely different.

This place had been his home for as long as he could remember, but mornings like these still had a way of surprising him.

Especially when he considered the ticking time bomb over his head now.

At least for the time being Eggsy could watch the sun finish rising and pretend that everything was alright - that he lived in some twisted reality where ritzy hotels and spectacular views were a norm.

Though his good morning was ruined not a minute later, because apparently his steps had not been quite enough to avoid the detection of Galahad.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Havin’ a smoke,” Eggsy takes a pointed drag, “You want one?”

“You should be inside,” the curtness of his tone catches Eggsy’s attention, and when he moves to actually look at Galahad, there’s clear displeasure on the other man’s face.

“You don’t smoke?”

“Not if I can help.”

“Pity,” Eggsy says, breathing the smoke in for a second before offering, “I’ve got other stuff though, really fucking good stuff, I was meeting up for a sale before-”

“I’m not interested in any of your street corner narcotics.”

That was a bit harsh.

He doesn’t even bother hiding the cringe at the comment, before squaring his shoulders and adopting a defensive pose.

“You too good for that? Too high up in your ivory tower to slum it with the rest of us?”

For a moment Eggsy thinks that he’s going to get a response out of Galahad, certainly the man looks unhappy enough - if the way his eyebrows knit together are anything to go by - but he says doesn’t rise to the bait.

It’s honestly a little bit of a let down.

Though he was sure if he pushed a little bit more he could get Galahad’s smooth demeanour ruffled.

“Put that out and come back inside.”

“And why the fuck should I do that?”

“Because I didn’t go through all the trouble of saving you, just for you to stand out here, and make yourself an easy target for any sniper who might be interested in making some extra cash.”

“There ain’t too many other buildings this high up,” Eggsy says.

There was a reason Harry had requested that they stay on the top floor of the hotel, and it wasn’t just for the view.

“You know if either of us were going to have the knowledge regarding snipers, it would be the one of us who does this for a living, not the insignificant drug dealer. ”

“I’m not fucking _insignificant_ ,” Eggsy says, the cigarette in his hand falling to the ground as his hands ball up into fists. Fists he won’t bother swinging, but tight enough that his nails dig into the skin of his hand and serve as a minor distraction. “I’m worth forty thousand-”

“You’re only worth that much if you’re dead.”

Those words feel worse than being hit.

See the thing was, Eggsy knew a whole lot about people that hit, he knew about being beaten and tossed aside, shoved in small dark places until he couldn’t scream anymore. He’d lived a rough life, even slept on the streets some nights.

Yet, he’d never felt truly awful until he heard those words come out of Galahad’s mouth, as if the fact that it was him saying it made everything so different.

It hardly made sense, Eggsy knew practically nothing about the other man.

But nevertheless it felt as though Galahad’s opinion mattered so much more than anyone else’s.

Something must show in his expression because a second later Galahad’s speaking up again, softer now, with less fire in his voice, “Eggsy-”

“No, you’re right. No use getting upset over the truth.”

“I didn’t-”

“You think I could take a shower?” Eggsy cuts him off to ask. Partially because he doesn’t want to hear whatever else Galahad has to say, but also because if he breaks down in the shower the running water will cover the sounds of anything else. “It’ll help me wake up and won’t set off smoke alarms?”

Galahad’s reply doesn’t come instantaneously, but eventually he does nod his head and says, “that should be fine.”

When Eggsy walks past him, tucking his pack back into the pocket of his jacket, he feels Galahad squeeze his shoulder in some sort of reassurance.

It has the exact opposite effect.

The movement ends up startling him instead, Eggsy flinches away from the hand, cursing internally because there’s no way that reaction could go unnoticed.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine. Abso-fucking-lutely fine.”

“What did I say about lying to me?”

He rolls his eyes, but thankfully is facing away from Galahad so the movement goes unseen.

“I’m taking a shower. You’ll be a good mate and lock the door when you come in, won’t ya? Wouldn’t want any fucking snipers sneaking in.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope you enjoy this chapter - I'm literally posting it right before I head out the door to drive to WonderCon for the weekend (on the off chance anybody whose reading this is also going hmu, or not, whatever)! So there won't be another update until I return Monday (at the earliest cause I'll probably need a bit of rest after the con)!

Last night’s phone calls had led to more dead ends than Harry had been entirely comfortable with.

Too many people with tight lips or simply not knowing enough to say anything.

This had never happened before.

Usually if Harry had issues with a job (or questions), he would be able to ask a few vague questions of his contacts and get a general idea of what was going on. In this case, he was left knowing absolutely nothing.

To say Harry was unsettled was putting it lightly.

He had slept lightly because of that (and because in his profession it was important to wake at the lightest noise), which was why he had caught Eggsy shortly after he’d woken up.

Though he rather regretted the conversation that had followed.

He had been _annoyed_ \- no, that wasn’t the right word, it was something more complicated than that.

As far as Harry was concerned he had been stating a simple fact, though his companion probably disagreed.

They’d have to talk about that later - concerns for one’s safety and the harsh reality of this situation would be important discussion points. Perhaps they could grab breakfast and talk it over there, assuming his one _last_ contact was able to provide any sort of information.

His phone, which had been sitting on the desk, lets out a shrill, chirping noise, and as Harry turns the screen to him he sees the confirmation he was looking for.

Making sure that his gaze through his glasses is fixated on a point which won’t give away their location, he turns the communications back on.

The basic data stream springs to life at the same second as a voice fills his ear, “Please tell me the mark has been terminated.”

“Good morning, Merlin,” Harry pointedly avoids the question.

“Damn it, Galahad.”

“Is this line secure?”

There’s a shuffling noise, before confirmation appears on the glass before him, “Seeing as how you used your last favor to-”

“Merlin.”

“Yes, the bloody line is secure.”

The noise he makes in reply is one of relief, “You’re absolutely certain that nobody else can access this?”

“We’re as secretive as a secret organization can get.”

“Wonderful,” Harry says, before finally answering Merlin’s previous question, “In that case, the mark is still alive.”

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“There’s something suspicious going on here.”

“Other than your obvious taste in twinks ruining a perfectly good paycheck,” Merlin says in a dry drawl.

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.”

“I need you to tell me all of the details about this job.”

“It’s classified.”

“I need you to unclassify it,” he says briskly, hoping Merlin can understand how important this is to him.

Surely he must, for there’s a long, delayed pause, and in the background he can hear Merlin typing on one of his numerous computers.

Though when he does finally speak it’s with a rather dismayed, “I can’t.”

“Not even for me,” Harry says, “I’m sure you owe me one, or I’ll owe you.”

“Harry,” the whole tone of the conversation shifts the second his code names is dropped, “Arthur’s the one who told me to send you on this job. I don’t even know all the details, I only know what he was willing to share.”

There’s apprehension in Merlin’s voice and it’s telling enough.

“Have you tried hacking it?”

“The second you went off the grid; haven’t made as much headway as I would have liked,” he admits, “I was just checking my progress on that; the result is less than satisfactory.”

He was putting it lightly.

And that was alarming.

More than alarming actually, considering the last time they had been in a situation like this one had been mere months before, right after Lancelot’s sudden disappearance - Harry had arranged for a team to follow the lead the other man had been looking into, only to have Arthur personally shut the whole thing down.

He had thought Arthur had simply been unwilling to send his men off to a dead end, but now-

It was probably nothing more than an odd coincidence.

“Perhaps you could run some searches, hack other less secure servers for me.”

“You mean commit treason.”

“We’ve always worked outside the law,” Harry reminds him, “That’s one of the perks of our organization.”

There’s a grumbled reply that he doesn’t catch, before Merlin speaks up again, “I’ll look into it, for that favor I owe you.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, not bothering to hide the relief from his voice.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“When you do your search, try looking into an Eggsy Unwin, as well,” Harry says, remembering Eggsy’s prefered name, “or any combinations of that and the original.”

Merlin’s silent for a beat too long, but finally he asks the inevitable, “Any reason why that name’s relevant to the Baker job?”

“That’s classified.”

“That’s my line,” is the curt reply, before he gets one final sigh from Merlin, “I’ll forward any information I get to your mobile. Keep a low profile until then. Understood, Galahad?”

Ah, so it’s back to business again, then.

“Understood,” he echoes, “and you won’t mention this to anyone else.”

“We’re on a secure line,” Merlin reminds him, “but no, Harry, I won’t tell anybody you’re keeping the boy alive, all because he’s got a nice arse.”

He knows that Merlin’s just teasing, but it feels a bit like he’s hitting the nail on the head, and it’s unsettling.

Certainly, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Eggsy was an attractive youth, and if he happened to be nearly exactly Harry’s type, that was just a cruel twist of fate.

“It’s not that,” he insists, “There’s just more here than you or I are aware of, and I’m curious. Humor me?”

“Apparently it’s my job to,” Merlin replies dismissively. “Though I have to admit, the name _Unwin_ sounds familiar, I’ll start there.”

“Thank you, Merlin. Signing off then?”

“Yes, I really ought to before somebody notices that I’ve gone missing. Merlin, signing off.”

“Galahad, signing off.”

He cuts all communications from the glasses after signing off, which ends up being right on time, because shortly after he does so, the sounds from the shower stop.

Bringing him back to the situation with Eggsy.

He’d been trying to figure out why that name sounds familiar since the first moment Eggsy had said it; however, there had been other things to deal with, and he had filed it away as unimportant. But Merlin mentioning the familiarity brought back that thought again.

Harry was certain that he had never met Eggsy before; he would have remembered having met a young man so fascinating.

Yet, the name he chose to have Harry call him, felt like an almost familiar one.

He was still dwelling on that thought when Eggsy finally stepped out of the bathroom, in naught but a towel wrapped around his waist.

The hint of lust that he had briefly felt before flared up again at the sight before him. Eggsy’s cheeks were just a hint redder than they should be from a normal shower, but he was smiling a bit more now. His hair looked darker when wet, sticking to the nape of his neck, and sending droplets of water down his shoulders and over his chest.

That was where Harry’s inspection of the other man stopped, because he wasn’t just wearing a towel, but there was also a medal he wore around his neck.

One with a frighteningly familiar emblem.

“Enjoying the view, bruv?”

Yes, he certainly was, but that was beyond the point.

“Where did you get that?”

He didn’t even have to specify what he meant at once, because a second later Eggsy’s hands were coming up to cover the medal.

“It was my da’s,” he says, “My real one, not that bastard currently with my mum.”

“Is that right?”

“Well, I mean - technically it wasn’t _his_. I mean, not while he was alive. He was in the navy, yeah? They gave it to us, on account of him dying. It’s a fucked up concept, ‘cause a shiny piece of metal don’t do shite when your da’s dead, but it’s all I got left of him.”

That medal was clearly not from the navy, not with the familiar sideways K that he had seen in two many pieces of his own gear, to the point where he would know it anywhere.

The only thing he has with their logo on it, is his pocket square, and Harry carefully removes it from his suit pocket, before offering it up to Eggsy.

The recognition was clear as he caught sight of the symbol, fingers shaking as he skimmed over it, “You were in the navy?”

“No, I wasn’t, and neither was your father.”

“What?”

“Or perhaps he was for a time, but-” Harry stopped. “Your father was Lee Unwin?”

And when Eggsy looked up now, those green eyes wide as they met Harry’s, he couldn’t help himself from wondering how he had missed the similarities before.

“You knew my da?”

“Your father saved my life. I just never thought I would be able to return the favor.”

“Do you think that has something to do with-” Eggsy starts. Though his voice is small, and he doesn’t finish his question, Harry knows what he means well enough.

In fact, his question lines up with Harry’s own suspicions.

Not that he’s ready to mention those yet, given the last conversation he had with the young man.

“I’m sure it’s nothing more than an odd coincidence,” Harry reassures him.

“That’s why you didn’t shoot me before, because you knew that I was-”

“I didn’t make the connection until now,” he confesses. “Though my subconscious might have noticed the similarities.”

Certainly if that was the reasoning for his protective streak over Eggsy than this would all make more sense. And, in all honesty, it sounded a lot better than confessing that he had been won over by an attractive face and boyish grin.

He can’t possibly be right, but for a second he thinks Eggsy almost seems upset by the comment.

“Guess that makes sense,” Eggsy mumbles, as he hands the pocket square back to Harry.

Harry’s never been particularly good at reassuring people, and he’s not getting any better at it, but one thing he knows is that there’s nothing quite like a cup of tea and warm food to warm one’s spirits.

“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go see about breakfast?”

The sad look doesn’t go away entirely, but it’s replaced by a spark of something, cheerfulness that is clearly forced, “Or we could stay in, order room service, and you could keep enjoying the view?”

“Believe me, I take no pleasure in your average appearance,” he lies, near effortlessly.

“I’ll have you know all the birds think I’m fucking fantastic,” Eggsy says, adopting a teasing tone, which comes easier than the faux-cheer, “and I can do this thing with my tongue, that makes blokes write fucking sonnets in my honor.”

“Eggsy-”

“You probably got some Bond Girl on the side, yeah?” Eggsy continues, “Pretty thing with nice tits and connections to Swiss arms dealers?”

“Are you quite finished?”

“Nah bruv, I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

“Of course, you do.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry for the delay in getting this up. I was away at WonderCon for the weekend, which was super exciting, of course! Also, I managed to pick up two Kingsman prints, as well as finding two people wearing Eggsy's yellow license plate jacket (like you guys have no idea how jealous I am of those who own that jacket) as well as a Harry cosplayer! Super exciting! 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this chapter and my apologies for disappearing for the weekend!

They’re at some cafe that Eggsy has never been to before, probably picked purely because of its outdoor seating, and the fact that Galahad was able to get them a table that gave him the best vantage point. Not that Eggsy could even pretend to understand that logic.

Really, he was more interested in the food, which he had made sure to inform Galahad was “The best thing I’ve had in weeks.”

He’d meant it as a peace offering, a tiny bit of thanks, but hadn’t been prepared for the way a frown settled onto the other man’s features at his words.

Apparently he wasn’t as good at redirecting things as he had thought.

“I didn’t ask before, ‘cause all that fucking shite,” Eggsy says quickly and quietly, “but did you figure anything out about the people who want me dead?”

“That is perhaps not the best conversation to have over breakfast.”

He grimaces, “That bad?”

“This would be easier if you would tell me what you already know?”

Yeah, he might have considered it, had he anything to actually go off of.

“Sorry, bruv, I’ve got a code.”

“Which leads us back to square one,” Galahad says, sounding entirely unamused, but not pushing for the moment. “I have a contact, who will be contacting me shortly if he finds something.”

“Another assassin?”

He has to admit, even in the face of all of this, Eggsy’s kind of dying to know about all this spy stuff. Especially now that he knew his father had apparently been an assassin too; that revelation had been a shock, to say the least. He still wasn’t sure how to process all of that information.

“Of a sorts.”

“Like Q?”

“He’d hate it if you called him that,” Galahad just replies.

That was enough to draw Eggsy’s interest, because while spies were cool, it was their gadgets that really made the whole thing. “So you’ve got like, fucking exploding pens and invisible ink.”

Galahad snorts a little at that last one, “We’re far more advanced than invisible ink.”

There were a billion questions on his mind, about spies, and gadgets, and this other world that, for a moment, he’s getting a glimpse into - but in another life could have been one that he’d have had the chance to be intimately acquainted with.

That thought is one that instantly settles deep within him.

Imagining that in another set of circumstances, people might have been shooting at him for a different reason. In some other reality, he might not have been making his _living_ from dealing drugs at street corners.

And maybe then he could have met Galahad under different circumstances, ones where he could appreciate the hot piece of assassin in front of him, and not worry about his mysterious savior changing his mind.

“Galahad’s not your real name, is it?”

He’s not sure where the question comes from, his mind running in a thousand different directions as it was.

Galahad looks up at him, his dark brown eyes meeting Eggsy’s through the frames of his glasses, “No, it’s not.”

“What is-” he starts, but he never gets to finish his question, because a moment later there’s an intense burst of pain in his shoulder, and the sounds of the other people eating at the diner screaming.

He’d be more surprised at the way Galahad says, “Shite!” if he wasn’t concerned with the pain.

As it is, the pain is a bit more distracting.

“You weren’t kidding about the fucking snipers.”

“Get down,” Galahad says, shoving Eggsy down by putting his hand on his other, thankfully uninjured shoulder.

Still moving, and following those orders sends off another ripple of pain, and Eggsy has to bite into his bottom lip to keep from making noise.

“Take my jacket,” Galahad says, as he shrugs the thing off and tosses it in down Eggsy’s direction.

“You want me to just hold this or...” Eggsy asks, not bothering to hide the way his eyes sweep over the exposed planes of Galahad’s form, taking in the shifting muscles beneath the white shirt, as well as the weapons he’s clearly been armed with this whole time.

“Put it on,” is Galahad’s brisk reply.

The prospect sounds painful, and really it would probably be easier to press the fancy jacket to his wound than to slip it on.

“Uh, no offense bruv, but I’m pretty sure wearing a posh jacket won’t make those fuckers think I’m somebody else,” he points out, the jacket still in his hands.

Though when Galahad does glance back at him with a gun in his hands and a stern look on his face, Eggsy slips the jacket on. It’s painful, as predicted, and takes him a few moments.

“It’s on,” Eggsy says, once he manages it, and it is then that Galahad offers a hand to help him back up.

“It’s bulletproof.”

“Are you taking the piss?”

Galahad doesn’t answer that question, he just continues,  “In case of an emergency there’s a lighter in the front pocket, use it.”

“What’s it then? Some sort of spy gear? A taser or-”

“A hand grenade.”

“That is sick!”

“Your amusement is greatly appreciated,” Galahad sarcastically replies, “Now if you’re able, we really ought to get moving before your shooter makes an appearance.”

“Right we should probably-”

There’s another shout before he can finish his sentence, and that’s as good of a sign as any for them to get a move on.

Galahad’s talking as they hurriedly move away from the cafe, something about not being able to go back to the hotel where they had stayed before, and needing some place safe to go to. Eggsy did his best to try and listen, but every few moments he would shift and cause more pain to rise up from his shoulder, making concentrating near impossible.

There’s a ledge to his left, one he could easily jump up on and use to get away.

Except then where would that leave him? Shot and alone - out of harms way, sure, but for how long? These people had been able to track him down so easily again, and there was no way he could explain that this was all some big misunderstanding before they decided to off him.

And anyways, doing that would mean leaving Galahad.

Just the thought of never seeing the man again made Eggsy’s stomach twist.

When had he gotten so attached?

“Eggsy are you listening to me?”

He looks up at the question, only then realizing that they’ve ducked into a dead end alleyway.

“Uh, no,” he admits, “Sorry, it’s fucking hard to think.”

“Ah yes, try not to focus on that.”

“Easier said than done, bruv.”

This time Galahad actually pauses to glance over Eggsy with a look that’s very near to concern.

His hand reaches up toward Eggsy’s shot shoulder, before stopping and just hovering there. It’s awkward and intense for a moment, neither of them moving, until Galahad finally speaks up, “We need a distraction. There’s no easy way to blend in this early in the day.”

“Right, distraction,” Eggsy nods, trying to think of something - anything, that will allow them to slip undetected away from the men that were chasing after them.

Thankfully they weren’t being shot at, yet.

“I saw this in a movie once,” Eggsy says, no time to really explain, before reaching out toward Galahad to tug him forwards slotting their bodies close together, his back hitting the brickwall behind him, but managing to bite down the noise of pain.

“Saw what?”

He doesn’t answer, not with words at least, but he wraps a hand tightly around one of Galahad’s shoulder holsters to keep him in place and then kisses him like his life depends on it - which in this case it does.

There’s a long moment where he thinks Galahad’s just going to stand there; tense, not moving and not making this nearly convincing enough, but then after what feels like an eternity, he does.

His body shifting to push Eggsy up against the wall with a bit more force, his mouth opening to the kiss, pushing against him with that same intensity.

When he gasps with a mix of pleasure and pain, Galahad takes that as an invitation.

Eggsy wouldn’t have minded waiting an eternity for that kiss.

It’s probably one of the best kisses Eggsy’s had in his life, and when a groan of pleasure leave him, he can’t even bother feeling ashamed of it.

Not even when he can feel Galahad still tense under his hands, and can hear the footfalls of the men who had been chasing them still outside the alleyway.

If he was going to die right then and there he’d probably be okay with that - he’d lived a decent life, and had gotten to live that moment.

The kiss tastes like the tea from breakfast, and the hint of blood from Eggsy’s split lip, but it’s perfection all the same.

The only downside is that it ends far too soon, bringing Eggsy crashing back to reality.

When the coast is clear and they finally pull apart, Eggsy can’t even bring himself to wipe his lips, instead he tries to remember the reasoning he had for that display, “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable,” he says, quoting the movie that had inspired his movements.

“Excellent thinking, Eggsy.”

Why was it that Galahad’s comment made everything feel perfect in the world.

“I always wanted to be a Bond girl.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

They don’t make it too much further from that alley, not nearly as far as Harry would like, before Eggsy is grimacing from the pain.

“Can I die from this,” he asks, trying to sound stubborn and sure, but only managing to sound worried.

“You’d die from the blood loss not the actual wound,” Harry says, before realizing a second too late that those probably weren’t the most reassuring of words. 

“Do you think there’s a way I could uh, not die from blood loss?”

Which was why no more than five minutes later Harry was locking them into a public bathroom and telling Eggsy to, “Strip.”

“Wait, what?”

“Just you shirt,” Harry clarifies, “I need to examine the wound.” 

“Right, that makes more sense,” Eggsy laughs awkwardly, before moving slowly to shrug off Harry’s jacket.

It hits the ground and Harry can’t help but grimace. The bloodstains had been manageable, but now it was surely going to wrinkle and-

Eggsy’s next hiss of pain draws Harry’s attention away from his nearly ruined suit jacket to where the boy is struggling with his shirt. 

“Here let me,” Harry offers, stepping into Eggsy’s space to help remove his shirt. His fingers brush against Eggsy’s stomach, the movement deliberate and selfish, before he finally tugs the shirt up and off of Eggsy. 

The wound isn’t as bad as Eggsy had made it out to be, though when his fingers brush against the entry, Eggsy hisses underneath him. 

“You got any sort of medical supplies, bruv, or we just winging it?”

“There’s a med-kit in my jacket,” Harry says, removing his hands from the other man in order to bend down to pick up the jacket and pull out the aforementioned kit.

“Is there anything  _ not _ in that jacket?”

“More bullets.”

“Wait, you’re out- fuck, Galahad, how are we going to-”

“I’m working on it,” Harry says, “though step one is to get this out of you.”

Harry’s done this before, on himself and on others, it’s simple enough - tweezers in, remove bullet, stitch back together - a process that was easy enough to perform on somebody who's been shot before.

It was a bit more difficult when the person had a thousand questions and couldn’t stand still.

“Eggsy, stop moving, you’ll make it worse.”

“It hurts like a bitch,” Eggsy says, but he does seem to at least try not to move this time; his hands grip the edge of the bathroom sink tightly, and his eyes are squeezed shut. 

“Afraid, I can’t do much about the pain,” Harry admits. 

“Distract me then,” Eggsy says.

And Harry can’t deny him that. 

Not when the boy’s blood is on his fingers, and Harry’s hit by the awful familiarity of having been here before. 

“My first job for the agency was stopping the assassination of Margaret Thatcher.”

“Not everybody would thank you for that,” Eggsy comments.

“Oh most certainly not,” Harry agrees.

“I thought you were an assassin not-

“As I said before, Eggsy, it’s complicated. I get jobs, I complete them, I don’t ask too many questions.”

“Until now.”

“Until now,” Harry agrees.

“So how’d you do it? Stopping the assassination or whatever?”

“Really it was all about making sure that nobody noticed what I was doing: in and out, without even making the papers. Which was easier said than done, of course. I stopped the assassin, simple enough, two shots to the back of the head.”

“That’s not that exciting of a story.”

“The story isn’t over yet, my boy,” Harry says, “Stopping the assassination wasn’t the problem, it was making it back to headquarters that proved to be more difficult, see they knew I was coming.” 

Harry grimaces at the memory. 

“I was barely twenty, and a little bit full of myself,” Harry admits, “and I hadn’t called in backup when I needed it; nearly botched the whole thing. I ended up a bit like you are now, sitting in some bathroom at this diner, while Merlin talked me through how to put myself back together.”

“Sounds rough?”

“Brace yourself for the stitches,” Harry warns.

“You had to fucking mention it, bruv, really?”

“Sorry,” Harry says, not meaning it in the slightest, before continuing, “I couldn’t thread the needle my hands were shaking so bad, and somebody kept knocking on the door telling me to hurry it up.”  

He falls silent for a moment, as though listening for a similar sound once more, but nothing comes. 

“And then what happened,” Eggsy prompts. 

There’s really not much to the story, nothing exciting really.

So instead he takes the bullet he had removed from Eggsy’s shoulder, and places it into his upturned palm.

“And that’s it, the end.” 

Their fingers brush against each other for one brief moment, before Eggsy curls his in to hold the bullet in his palm. 

“You know, that wasn’t so bad, Galahad-”

“Harry.”

He looks up then, to meet Harry’s eyes in the dirty bathroom mirror, the image of pain that had been in there before was gone, replaced instead by curiosity.

“What?”

“You asked before, what my name was, but we were distracted from finishing our conversation.”

“Distracted is one way to put it, bruv.”

“Yes, well, technicalities aside, that’s your answer.”

“Right, okay then, Harry?”

He nods again, there’s hesitance in the way Eggsy forms the syllables of the name, “Exactly, like the boy wizard, or the popstar, or-”

“Or the prince?” 

“Or that,” he agrees, “I wasn’t certain if you would catch the reference.”

“You didn’t think I was cultured enough to know the name of the  _ prince _ ?”

“In hindsight, I realized I may have underestimated you,” he admits. “My apologies.”

This time, it’s not through the mirror that he meets Harry’s eyes, but Eggsy actually turns around, gritting his teeth in pain, but still turns so that their faces are mere inches apart, “It’s alright, Harry, I forgive you.”

He means to say something - or more so, he means to do something, to finish what they had started in the alleyway, though as if on cue, a knock at the door ruins the moment.

“Fuck,” Eggsy breathes out, before speaking loud enough for the person on the other side to hear, “One second, bruv, we’re almost finished.” 

There’s some reply from the person on the other side, but Harry can’t make it out, instead he’s focused on Eggsy whose eyes still haven’t left Harry’s. They stand there, staring at each other for another long moment, a long moment that Harry desperately wants to break and yet finds himself unable to.

The only interruption is the near incessant knocking.

At least Harry can assume that the person on the other side isn’t one of their attackers; nobody in their line of work would still be waiting for a door to be opened.

“Toss me my jacket, yeah,” Eggsy finally says, tearing his eyes away. “The shirt’s a lost cause, no way in hell I’m pulling that back on.” 

As Eggsy moves to get dressed, Harry does the same, picking up his stained and wrinkled jacket and sliding it on. Too bad there wouldn’t be a chance to stop by a drycleaners. 

“I said one fucking second,” Eggsy calls at the door, again, before he settles himself in front of Harry and reaches up to mess his hair up.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you look fucked,” the boy grins back at him, this time his fingers find their way to the buttons of Harry’s shirt, tugging two loose, and making his outfit look generally less put together. “We want whoever that is to assume we were in here shagging, not you know-”

“Dealing with gunshot wounds?”

“That’d be it,” Eggsy agrees. “Now, you ready to face the music, bruv?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

#### 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter than usual, but I felt like it was a good place to end the chapter, hope you guys think so too!

They’d made it out of there undisturbed, for the most part, Galahad - no, _Harry_ \- had called a cab for them, and nobody had appeared out of the shadows this time.

His shoulder still hurt like a bitch, and he swore every time he moved he could feel the wound reopening again, even though Harry assured him that it would heal just fine. He’d cracked some joke under his breath, about battle scars and pleasing the ladies, but Harry had just given him a dismissive look at the time.

Now, though as they sat together in the back of the cab, off to some unknown destination (or at least, unknown to Eggsy, he’d seen Harry whisper something in the cabby’s ear, but hadn’t been able to hear it), Harry’s concern shown through.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Eggsy says, determined to keep a strong face.

“When we reach our destination, remind me to get you something to take the edge off.”

“A drink?” he asks, “‘cause I’ve got stronger stuff if-”

“No, Eggsy.”

“Yeah, okay, just saying,” he shrugs, aiming for casual, until the shrugging motion makes him hiss in pain again.

His noise catches the attention of the cabby who shoots them a look in the rear view mirror, but their driver doesn’t say anything, and looks away a second later, when Harry settles his arm across the back of the seat and draws Eggsy towards him.

He goes willingly, finding a small bit of comfort in leaning against Harry.

Like that, the time seems to pass quicker, and before Eggsy knows it the cab is stopping and letting them out in a part of town that was highly different from any part of London that Eggsy had ever known.

It was a posh place; the type of place that Eggsy would never have frequented before.The whole area was clean and polished, houses worth more than any sum Eggsy could even try to wrap his head around. As it was, he was certain that he stuck out like a sore thumb, casting glances around the area every few seconds in case people realize he doesn’t belong and try shooting at him again.  

“Fuck, Harry, this is where your contact lives?”

“Ah no,” Harry answers a second later, following Eggsy’s gaze about the place. “He’ll be telecommunicating for the most part.”

“Oh okay, then why the fuck are we over here?”

Harry raises an eyebrow at his tone, before walking up the stairs towards the front door of one of the townhouses. Eggsy follows him a second later, taking the few steps two and a time until he is standing next to Harry.

The assassin appears to be in his element, at ease, whereas Eggsy keeps casting fidgety looks around, while he reaches for something in the pockets of his suit jacket.

“We breaking in?” Eggsy asks, looking up at the townhouse they’ve stopped outside once more. “You know, I could hop up there, break in through the window, that might be easier, yeah?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry replies smoothly.

“If you’re worried about me hurting myself, don’t, cause I’m fucking good at breaking into places. Dean used to have me do it all the time, jimming in through a window and then unlocking the door from the inside so the boys could come in, makes it looks less broken, you know?”

“Perhaps another time.”

“I’m just saying,” Eggsy continues, “What happens if those rich wankers are on the inside?”

“They won’t be,” Harry assures him.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because,” Harry says, drawing a set of keys out of his jacket’s pocket, “this is my home.”

“No shit?”

“No shit,” he echoes, the words sounding weird rolling off Harry’s tongue.

The key went into the lock easily, and a moment later Eggsy is being ushered inside a house just as pristine as the outside. When he had imagined where Harry might live it wasn’t something like this, admittedly his idea was more of a military bunker, or a series of hotel rooms, but the point still stood.

“Why’d you bring me here? I mean, not complaining,” Eggsy says, “but why didn’t we do this last night or you know?”

“I am uncertain of who we can or cannot trust,” Harry explains. “At least here, if anybody tried anything, I would be well armed and know all the escape routes.”

“That’s a pleasant thought,” Eggsy replies sarcastically.

“It’s not meant to be pleasant, none of this is.”

“Yeah, figured that one out, thank you very much.”

“Eggsy.”

He’s not sure he’ll ever get tired of hearing Harry say his name.

“Yes?”

“I know you don’t entirely trust me-”

“That’s not true,” Eggsy says, because it’s not - his whole life has been going to shit, and the only person he really trusts is Harry.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” Harry corrects.

“Too late for that, bruv.”

There’s a sigh, an almost painful sounding one, before Harry continues where he had left off the first time, “Then let me help you. Tell me what you know, why these people want you out of the picture.”

“Look as I said before-”

“Eggsy, please.”

And that there, that just wasn’t fair.

Harry must know that, must have seen the way Eggsy was looking at him, and was using it to manipulate him - and hey, he got it, that whole James Bond act had to pay off at some point.

“I don’t know anything,” Eggsy says, the words coming out in a rush. “I know I said I did, but I was just bluffing ‘cause fuck, I figured if it looked like I had whatever the fuck it is you need, you’d keep me around. Except, I don’t know nothing. I’m fucking scared, yeah? And I don’t know why any of this is happening, and I know I should have said something before, but god - Harry, I don’t want to die. I know I’m a fuck up, but I don’t-”

He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until Harry’s pulling him against his chest, and holding tightly.

“I promise you’ll be safe,” Harry says, his hand steady at the back of Eggsy’s head, rubbing soft circles there. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And for a second there, he almost believes it.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably stop posting this chapters when everybody is asleep (its 4am where I am)... But I just got off work, saw that my most wonderful beta had sent the chapter back, and figured the rest of you might want some reading while I sleep the day away!

Harry makes tea, because his mother had raised him to be a proper gentleman (bless her soul) and that meant making tea when people were upset.

“You have anything stronger?” Eggsy asks, cracking him a grin over his tea cup at Harry.

His eyes are still red-rimmed, but the boy is attempting to be good natured, so Harry lets the unsaid things from before settle silently between them. And instead focuses on stirring sugar into his tea.

“I thought it might be wise to keep a level head for now.”

Eggsy nods in agreement with that, “Makes sense, in case anything happens, yeah?”

“You’ll be safe here,” Harry says, not for the first time that night and probably not for the last, watching how ever so slightly his words seem to ease some of Eggsy’s tension.

“Yeah, but for how long?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that one.”

“Figures.”

“There’s only one other person in the world that knows about this residence,” Harry explains, “You could stay here for the rest of your life, and nobody would be able to find you. Though I dare say we may run out of food before then, and I’ve been told that I can get terribly cross without my morning cuppa. However, no matter what you decide I would keep you safe.”

“Because of my da?”

“No,” Harry says, though that was part of it - a reminder in the back of his mind, a pleasant excuse - it wasn’t the truth, “because of you.”

His sincerity is missed or ignored, because a second later Eggsy makes a dismissive noise, “Yeah, alright, Harry, whatever you say.”

“You don’t believe me,” Harry states, not a question, because the truth is right there before his eyes.

The way Eggsy stares into his tea cup instead of speaking is enough of an answer.

“Then again, why should you? I supposed I haven’t actually done anything to earn your trust,” he says, after a moment, settling his own cup down.

The noise it makes draws Eggsy’s eyes up to him.

“You saved my life, Harry.”

That was debatable.

“Perhaps if you had a way of defending yourself, I wouldn’t have to do that again.”

“I thought you said you weren’t gonna arm me,” Eggsy asks cautiously, though Harry can see that he’s suddenly caught the younger man’s attention, “I mean, fuck, Harry, I’m not complaining, but otherwise I’m just kind of jumping out of the way and hoping I don’t get fucking shot again.”

“I’ve had a change of faith,” Harry offers. “You trusted me earlier, and it’s only right that I return the favor. If you’re interested?”

“Just in case another of those fuckers show up?”

“Exactly.”

“I’d be nice, if I could take a shot at them instead for once.”

“I’m assuming you know how to _use_ a firearm?”

“Yeah,” Eggsy answers a bit too quickly, though as soon as the words are out of his mouth he seems to study his trainers as though they’re the most exciting thing in the world. “I was in the marines for a bit, before... stuff.”

That’s right; Harry had read that in his file.

Dishonorable discharge - there was something that Eggsy wasn’t telling him, that much was for sure, but Harry could tell well enough that it wouldn’t do to push the topic.

“Well, then, come on,” Harry says, standing up and reflexively straightening his clothes, even though he’s more than certain that present company won’t mind.

“What, right now?”

“Unless you’d rather finish your tea?”

“No, I’m fine,” Eggsy says. It takes all of Harry’s willpower not to cringe at the loud sound Eggsy’s tea cup makes when he sets it down a bit too forcefully.

As Harry starts up the stairs, Eggsy follows him without hesitation, taking two steps at a time, until they reach Harry’s office. Harry tries his hardest not to be amused by the whole thing, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Eggsy and nothing more, until the boy slows his jittery pace.

When he opens the door to his office, he takes a brief moment to watch Eggsy’s expression of curiosity getting the better of him. It’s worth watching, to catch that momentary glance of wonder, before he schools it into some sort of aloof expression.

“Don’t tell me; your Bond girl is the Lois Lane type: pretty reporter, big doe eyes?” Eggsy asks, already moving over to the wall of newspaper articles, scanning over each headline briefly before moving to the next one.

“I thought you were my _Bond girl_?”

When he catches Eggsy’s cheeks starting to turn red, Harry turns towards the wall of his office, which is actually a false, in order to spare him the embarrassment. Though he would be lying if he said that the expression wasn’t permanently saved in his mind.

The embarrassed mumbling that had been going on behind Harry’s turned back falls silent when the wall moves out of the way to reveal his arsenal.

“Bloody hell.”

“I assure you this here isn’t even all of it, just a personal collection.”

“Is that an _umbrella_?”

“Of a sort,” Harry grins, taking the umbrella off the wall to offer it up to Eggsy.

“Of a sort,” he echoes, examining it once, before giving Harry a curious glance.

“It is also a functioning firearm, a bulletproof shield, and contains a powerful amount of sedatives.”

“This is that fucking spy shite, innit?”

“That it is,” Harry agrees, before picking up a handgun from his wall, “though I believe, this one may suit you better.”

And if he had thought the embarrassed flush looked good on Eggsy, it was nothing compared to the way Eggsy looked holding a pistol in his hands, as though he was meant to wield one. The fierce determination in his eyes, the natural way his fingers slipped into the right position - the view was intoxicating.

“Thanks, Harry, you’re aces.”

“You’re welcome, Eggsy.”

He means to say more, had every intention of saying more, but any explanation seemed to fall from his mind the second he met Eggsy’s eyes and saw that appreciation reflected in them. He wasn’t sad anymore, certainly not, instead there was something deeper there - and Harry couldn’t look away if he wanted to.

Silence stretched between them with no words left to be said. The breaking point came after what felt like an eternity; only coming when Eggsy finally broke their eyecontact for his eyes to flicker downwards towards Harry’s lips, while he made a move as to lick his own, “Harry, I-”

And Harry was not a man to wait much longer, not when he was certain the signs were before him, signs that reflected the interests which had been growing in Harry since he first ran into the young man.

This kiss is different from the one in the alleyway.

For one, this time Harry’s initiating it, and isn’t caught off guard in the slightest.

Though more importantly, it’s not an act or a distraction, it’s a statement of intent, a statement that Eggsy seems more than happy to take part in if the way he moans into Harry’s mouth is any indication.

Taking charge is easy enough to do, and in a few movements, he has Eggsy pressed against one of the other walls of his office, one of the real ones that serve as a solid surface rather than a hidden doorway, hand pressing just a bit too tightly into his hip.

“God, Harry, fuck-” Eggsy manages to say when they break apart for air for a brief second, before they’re at it again. Whatever noise he makes next, gets swallowed up by the kiss Harry presses to his lips.

It’s a desperate one, filled with want and the resistance he had put up over the last twenty-four hours melts away so easily now that they’re like this.

Eggsy eventually reacts to the kiss the way Harry had expected, the fight in him that Harry had noted in the alleyway increases now. As Eggsy’s hands move toward Harry’s belt, ever the eager young thing, Harry stops him. Instead he grabs Eggsy’s wrists and bring them up over his head to hold him in place, putting him at Harry’s mercy once more.

He’s not sure what he expects from Eggsy as a reaction to that, some sort of pleasure certainly, not the noise of unpleasant shock or Eggsy suddenly flinching back from Harry so that he hits the wall again, this time clearly letting out a noise of pain.

As he meets Eggsy’s eyes, and it’s clear that something is wrong.

The lust which had been there a second before has seemed to fade in an instant and instead he looks pale, his eyes only meet Harry’s for a brief second before they look away as if ashamed.

There’s another wince, and this time he remembers, “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Eggsy says, stubbornly, though he is clearly lying.

“You were shot,” Harry repeats, for his own benefit as well as Eggsy’s, as he steps back in order to give him more space.

How he’d forgotten that in the heat of the moment is more shocking than anything, Harry’s attention to detail had never failed him so clearly before.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, “I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s not that, fuck, Harry,” Eggsy says, running the hand of his uninjured arm through his hair and messing it up even more than before. “I mean, that hurts like a bitch and the wall didn’t fucking help, but that’s not- I’m the one that’s fucked up, shouldn’t have, I’m not normally this bad. Don’t fucking worry, I can go back to normal, just give me a sec to sort things, and then we can do whatever you want, I swear it. I mean, you deserve - I’m not such a fucking mess normally, Harry, I promise.”

There’s a horrible sinking feeling in his chest as he listens to Eggsy ramble some half-hearted excuses, anxious answers that barely make any sense, and certainly aren’t proving any sort of point.

“I made a mistake,” Harry says, cutting Eggsy off mid-apology, “I misinterpreted things. You shouldn’t feel obligated to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. This isn’t an exchange where I give you a gift and expect _favors_ in return.”

What life would Eggsy have had to live to be in a position where he thought sexual favors were proper thanks for such things?

And then what did that make Harry? A right fool, that was what.

“Harry, that’s not-”

He doesn’t get to hear what _that isn’t_ because the rest of his sentence is cut short by the shrill sound of Harry’s phone ringing from his jacket pocket - the very phone that he had certainly set on silent, which could only mean one thing, “That’s probably Merlin.”

“Your Q, guy?” Eggsy asks, still looking a bit shaky, but his face falling into a schooled expression quickly enough. “You should take that then, yeah?”

“As I’m assuming he might have information relevant to your situation, that would probably be for the best,” Harry agrees, “though Eggsy, we still need to finish this-”

“Consider it finished, yeah?”

“Eggsy-”

“Take the call, tell me some good news after, yeah?”

“If you’d like-”

“I’ll go wash up downstairs, the cups and all, won’t get into any of your things, I swear it.”

“You know, it’s poor manners to interrupt people when they’re trying to have a discussion with you.”

“Ain’t it poor manners not to answer your fucking phone?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when like 24 hours ago I posted chapter nine and was like "I'm going to stop posting these at 4am when I get off shift" well, I lied.

Eggsy’s hands shake as he runs Harry’s fancy tea cups under the warm water.

He’d right fucked things up back there; he’d had Harry right where he’d wanted him - two minutes max away from fulfilling every dirty spy movie kink he’s had in his life, with a bloke that was a perfect match for his type, and he’d ruined it all. This would be so much easier if he could just explain the problem, but he had tried, and that had failed completely.

The fact of the matter was that there was no easy way to put it into words, no way to explain that he couldn’t help but flinch - it wasn’t from pain, or distaste, or even fear of Harry - no, it was that feeling of helplessness, being unable to push back.

He’d felt far too much of that in the past twenty-fours hours, and even before then it had never been a pleasant feeling.

Too many bad memories.

A shit childhood and a rough adolescence could do that to anybody.

Not that the posh assassin upstairs could understand any of that, was probably fed from a silver spoon all his life (if this house was any indication) before switching out for a silver pistol.

And really, who was Eggsy kidding?

He knew what this was, seen enough of those movies to know how this generally goes  - the Bond girl ends up drowning at the bottom of a river, or however the fuck that movie ended - dead though, that was the end result.

Until then, he’s just a minor fixation, a pretty picture with a no strings attached expiration date.

That very thought makes his insides turn.

And the cup clatters from his hand, as the shaking gets too much, and it falls a brief distance to the bottom of the sink.

The resulting noise seems far too loud in the near silence of Harry’s townhouse.

“Eggsy.”

He doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing.

Fucking assassins and their stealth mode.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to drop it. I just keep fucking things up, don’t I?” Eggsy says, making a move to grab the cup, only to find Harry’s hand settling over his and stopping him in place, while using his other hand to turn off the running water.

“Are you alright?”

“Fucking fantastic, Harry,” he says, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. He tugs his hand away and moves from the sink, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he does so, in what he hopes looks casual.

Though the look on the other man’s face seems to indicate that Eggsy’s movements didn’t come off quite as casual as he hopes. So before Harry can voice the worry so clearly on the tip of his tongue, Eggsy jumps in, “Did your friend find anything?”

Harry at least lets the topic drop, though he can see the moment when it gets settled away for later, and instead turns back to the more important matter.

“He found more than I had expected,” Harry explains, gesturing towards the kitchen table, and Eggsy takes the offered seat. “The short answer Eggsy, is that we believe this may simply be a situation of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Figures that’d be the reason he was in this mess.

“Yeah?”

“There are forces at work here, which I believe are out of your league. A coworker of mine, disappeared a while ago,” Harry says, speaking in vague turns. “Years ago he had been close with your father, and for a bit I thought there may have been a connection between the two.”

“There ain’t?”

“I’m not entirely certain, Eggsy, all of this is still just being put together.”

“Okay, so what is it then?

“I have pictures, people that were related to the mission Lancelot had been on when-”

“Lancelot.”

“Eggsy-”

“You’ve got the worst fucking code names in the world, bruv, no offense meant.”

“I’ll try not to take offense,” Harry retorts with just a hint of sarcasm. “Now, if you’ve finished with your childish amusement.”

“Hey!”

“Would you mind looking through these?”

He stares down at the tablet Harry pushes across the table to him, falling silent as he does his best to concentrate on the picture. Eggsy’s not sure where he would see somebody like the posh old man in the photo - certainly not in his usual line of work.

When he shakes his head, Harry reaches across to swipe the picture aside and bring up another, and another, and another - a bunch of men Eggsy’s never seen in his life.

Until there’s one he actually knows.

“That’s Professor Arnold,” Eggsy says, tapping on the screen, at the first familiar face.

“Yes,” Harry answers, taking the tablet back for himself and pressing more buttons so that further information comes up. “Professor James Arnold, currently teaching at Imperial College London, one of the world’s leading experts in climate change.”

“Yeah, I know him - he buys a bag of addy every other week and-”

“You deal to the professor?”

Eggsy nods his head, “I swear, I’ve got his next pick-up in my jacket, or close enough, this is actually Ryan’s share, but it ain’t gonna make a fucking difference. I normally do a drop off on Friday’s, there’s the gentleman’s club, Tilde let’s me in through the backdoor with the girls and-”

“Did he ever miss one of your usual days?”

“Uh yeah, about a month back; didn’t think nothing of it, sometimes the buyers get busy or tight on cash.”

“Or kidnapped, and in need of a rescue mission that ends with a missing mercenary and the sudden reappearance of a not-so-missing professor.

“You don’t think that he did it, do you? Cause the professor ain’t a big thing, couldn’t imagine he’d be able to off somebody.”

“Eggsy, I’m not sure what to think at this point, but I’m willing to take any lead we might have.”

He stares down at the display, where the professor’s face is staring back at him - the guy’s not much, a good buyer but nothing too noteworthy. Eggsy can’t imagine Professor Arnold having put up all that money for his head, especially just on the off chance Eggsy remembered some deal that fell through.

But if Harry thought it might lead to something, then he figured he might as well trust Harry’s judgement.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s worth a shot right? I could get at him, go in there to sell and maybe get him to come around back; then you could do your scary assassin thing or whatever the fuck it is you do.”

“I don’t want to put you at risk,” Harry says, and he sounds sincere, which is the almost scary thing, “I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

“I can handle myself,” he insists, stubbornly, because he needs that sincere look to go away, “and if he tries to get fucking smart, I’ll shoot him, yeah?”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t have to come to that.”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between chapters here, I typed this all up and the lost half the chapter due to the a Google Drive error. The next one should come quicker, and also in the /next/ chapter the rating will increase, so uh, keep an eye out for that.

Since hatching their plan at his kitchen table the night before, they had spent all the time up till now (that wasn’t reserved for sleeping) working out the best plan of attack.

Still, that didn’t mean that Harry was entirely comfortable with the situation.

He had put up a bit of a fuss, insisting that he didn’t feel comfortable putting somebody untrained in what could be a situation that would put their life in danger. Eggsy had predictably rolled his eyes and insisted that, “My life’s in danger if we don’t do shit, what fucking difference does this make?”

Which was a very valid point. Not that Harry had been comfortable admitting that.

At least, Harry was able to be there and keep an eye on Eggsy.

Getting into the Gentleman’s Club had proved to be one of the easiest tasks of his life; a fancy suit and a bit of money, and a bouncer was letting him inside as if this was a normal practice. And judging by the men enjoying the club, it certainly was _that_ sort of establishment.

Harry fit in perfectly with the crowd of married men slipping out on their wives, and aging intellectuals looking at girls young enough to be their students.

He can see Eggsy from his vantage point at the bar, talking up some scantily clad blonde (likely the in he had mentioned). His hand thumbs at the woman’s bare waist, as he whispers something into her ear, as Harry does his best to squash the momentary flare of jealousy.

It’s not like he has any right to be feeling that way, not when Eggsy had made his feelings on the matter clear enough the other night when he moved away from Harry’s touch. They still hadn’t talked about that, and when he had attempted to ask about it, Eggsy had shrugged it off and mentioned something about not having enough time for the conversation.

Which Harry had let slide simply because their schedule was tight.

Harry was regretting that now, as his eyes slid over Eggsy’s figure, and that feeling of _want_ rose back up in him.

He’s wearing one of Harry’s suit jackets - they’d agreed upon that after taking stock of the track jacket Eggsy had been wearing before, hole ripped through the side of it. He’d jokingly mentioned that he knew a good tailor if Eggsy needed it repaired, but the joke had predictably gone over the young man’s head.

In the end he’d been able to lend Eggsy a jacket, that didn’t quite fit his shoulders, but would do it’s job well enough.

Or at least, would have, had Eggsy not insisted on wearing it open with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, “Makes me look less like a prick,” he had said at the time, before tacking on a teasing, “No offense meant, bruv.”

Regardless, he looked good now, good enough that Harry cannot help but imagine what Eggsy might look like done up in a proper suit. The image was a satisfying one, though admittedly one that made him feel the slightest bit guilty.

They meet eyes across the bar, for a split second, Harry not bothering to look away from his mark, while Eggsy gazes about in a faux-casual fashion.

He’s a good actor, a natural as he slips back into his usual roll as though there’s nothing amiss - in another life, Harry could imagine having recruited Eggsy to work for them, he was certainly Kingsman material, if a bit rough around the edges.

There’s a little wink, before Eggsy continues looking around the club, and this time when his eyes settle on somebody, Harry follows his gaze to find the aforementioned professor right where he wanted him.

Professor Arnold has yet not notice anything out of the ordinary, clearly enjoying himself. Though it was clear the moment the Professor noticed Eggsy. This was normal behavior Eggsy had assured him before, slipping among the crowd and selling to his usuals, which was why seeing the professor start to fidget makes it clear that their suspicions had been on the right track.

Harry puts a note down on the table, telling the bartender to “Keep the change” as he moves to another part of the room, close enough now that he can hear bits and pieces of the conversation Eggsy was having with Arnold.

“I’m sorry,” the professor says, darting his gaze around the room, “I’m not interested in buying tonight.”

“Really bruv, you gonna flake now? That’s fucked. See I got a fucking quota to meet,” Eggsy drawls, his accent coming out stronger now, “Me boss gonna fucking wreck me if I don’t bring back the right count, ya know?”

“If I pay you, will you go away?”

“I, ah,” Eggsy stops, his eyes looking over the professor’s shoulders, to meet Harry’s gaze, “Sorry, bruv, seems like you got a prior commitment.”

The professor’s face was shockingly pale as he turns around to follow Eggsy’s look towards Harry, “No, no, tell Gazelle that I don’t want any more-”

“Why don’t we go out back,” Harry says.

Clearly Arnold had assumed he was somebody else, and Harry was willing to play along for the moment, as long as it got them their information. Silently he filed the unfamiliar name into the back of his mind, so that he could look into it later.

Once they’re out in the alley, Arnold gets fidgety again, glancing between Harry and Eggsy, he says, “Whatever she’s paying you, I can offer double.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Harry says.

“I’ve got connections,” the professor insists, “friends in high places - there’s this fellow, pays me well to keep my mouth shut, you could work for him instead of that bitch.”

There’s a sense of foreboding that settles over Harry as he carefully asks, “And who might this benefactor be?”

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Humor me?”

“Chester King.”

A small part of him had been expecting that, but hearing it so clearly, was not something Harry was entirely prepared for.

His gun was out and aimed to shoot, without even having to think about it, and from behind him he could hear Eggsy’s quiet murmur of “What the fuck?” but he didn’t have time to answer Eggsy - he had a witness to interrogate.

“Why don’t you tell me everything you know about this _benefactor_ of yours, and I’ll see if you get to walk out of here alive?”

Professor Arnold was not a particularly brave man, which worked to Harry’s advantage easily enough, the sight of the gun got him talking, blubbering at some point in sentences that only half made sense. Hopefully Merlin would be able to make sense of the bits Harry couldn’t from the recording.

But even with that, Harry was able to get the picture well enough.

Well enough to know this his organization had been compromised, and that Harry had been assigned a job that should have ended in his own death as well as the death of his companion.

“What do they want with Eggsy?” Harry asks, holding Arnold by the collar, and demanding that one last, almost selfish, piece of information, after almost everything else has been revealed to him.

“He saw me - talking with Gazelle one night - we can’t have any witnesses,” he answers between ragged breaths.

“So I really was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Eggsy mumbles his voice low, and there’s a twinge of sadness there that Harry wishes he could brush away.

Instead of doing any of that though, he pushes Arnold away from him and back against the wall.

“And what is it you and this Gazelle are planning?”

“I’m not working with them anymore, it was just one time,” he insists. “She needed me to sign off on some cargo, insisted it was necessary for my research.”

“What kind of cargo was it, then? Drugs?”

“Weapons, mostly.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know anything else,” Arnold insists, “I swear, all I was told is that there were plans in place, to remove unworthy people from certain positions of authority, it’s all for the good of England, I assure you.”

Harry doesn’t doubt that was what the professor had been led to believe. Especially not if _Arthur_ was involved in all of this, though the thought of that made his stomach turn.

He holds off any violent urges, determined to let this professor lay out in some alleyway until somebody else came along and put him out of his misery, or at least that had been his plan, until the words, “I’m sorry about your friend,” fall from Arnold’s lips, almost as an after thought, “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. This one too.”

Then he punches him in the face.

It’s not nearly as satisfying of a feeling as he had hoped, and had Harry not been holding on to the small belief that he could get more information out of Arnold he would have shot him right there. Killed the bastard who had led to the death of Lancelot, and who was indirectly responsible for the danger Eggsy was currently in.

In the end it didn’t matter, because before he could take his second swing, the professor fell limp before him, mouth frothing and eyes rolling back in his head.

“What the fuck?”

“Cyanide capsule,” Harry answers Eggsy’s ineloquent question, “Must have taken it when I was distracted.”

“Bloody hell,” is the murmured reply, and when Harry turns to look at Eggsy, the boy’s got this almost horrified look on pale face. It’s an unnatural expression, one Harry wishes he could make disappear.

No words of relief come easily to his mind, so instead he simply states the obvious, “We should get out of here.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want somebody walking out and seeing this fucking mess,” Eggsy agrees, before stepping up close to Harry’s side, “Put your arm around me when we walk out, yeah? Nobody will get jumpy if its some random and a rentboy leaving a dark place.”

“Valid point,” Harry says, doing as Eggsy had asked, before leading him out from the alleyway.

He’s still tense, mind running through all of the information he’d just gathered and still not entirely certain to do with it. If Arthur was part of this then there was no telling who he could trust back at Kingsman, Merlin had professed to be out of the loop and they had been friends long enough that Harry believed him, but beyond that he was uncertain.

His fingers brush against the side of his glasses, sending the information he had received off to the only other person he trusted with it. Hopefully by the time they made it back to his house, Merlin would have a plan of action.

Harry had been so caught up in all of these new revelations and plans that he had not initially noticed anybody following them - a mistake which could have cost him his life in some other circumstance.

As it was the people following them were harmless.

Or well, mostly harmless.

“You little fucker.” Eggsy, who was still pressed against Harry’s side, tenses as the words are called out to them.

“Shite,” he mutters under his breath, before turning away from Harry to turn to the group of people who had just stumbled out of a bar.

“You know I was just telling Rotty, that I thought I saw your pathetic arse slinking out of some alley with a posh wanker, but that couldn’t be fucking right, cause last time I heard you’d skipped outta town,” one of the guys drawls, “but here he is Eggsy the fucking-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eggsy cuts in, “You have no idea the shit I’ve been through the last few days.”

“I’m sure the boss would love to hear about it,” one of the others, likely the Rotty fellow says, “We’re gonna bring you back there, then you can run that smart mouth of yours and see if you’re still talking shite.”

“I told you to fuck off.”

“Boss don’t pay you to go fucking around with some old pervs, you’ve got to give us a share, you little shite-”

“That’s quite enough,” Harry says, his voice tight and tense.

For a second the men seem surprised to hear Harry talking, as if they had expected him to be running off by now, not wanting to get caught in whatever scuffle is about to occur.

“Look, old man, if you want another rent boy, they’re on the corner of-”

He doesn’t let them finish the sentence, instead he uses all the pent up anger he has had simmering below the surface since Arnold got shot moments before, and puts it to good use.

The fight is hardly even fair.

“Fuck, Harry,” Eggsy says, no less than five minutes later when the men who had approached them are knocked out or running as fast as they can away from the situation, “That was fucking hot, shite.”

“Hot?”

“I mean,” his cheeks are certainly tinged with pink, noticeable under the streetlamps, “You’re fucking ace, yeah? Doing that for me, fuck Harry, you don’t know what seeing that does to me.”

And he wants to say something then, remind Eggsy that everything he’s done since they ran into each other has been for Eggsy’s sake, but there’s something in his eyes, a distracting heat, that makes serious topics easily forgotten.

“It’s like you said, you’re my _Bond Girl._ ”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay bros, here it is, the long awaited rating increase.
> 
> Also a thousand thanks to Liz who turned my beginners smut into too hot (hot damn).

They barely make it through the door of Harry’s townhouse.

There’s a pretense being kept up, meaningless chatter about plans that have to be made and people that have to be contacted, but Harry’s hand has been a steady weight against his hips since they left the club, excluding the brief time spent in a taxi where that hand had moved to his thigh and rubbed small circles into the fabric of his jeans. They had both known where this was going the second they got inside, and so Eggsy isn’t surprised at all when he’s pushed up against the door the second it closes behind them.

His shoulder hurts slightly from the jarring contact, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of Harry pressed against him, kissing him like he’s a dying man and Eggsy his only chance for absolution.

It’s significantly different from anyone that Eggsy has been with in the past, and for that he’s thankful; He’s far more used to quick and dirty fucks without any meaning behind them.

He bucks his hips against Harry’s on instinct, and is met with a satisfying groan.

“Want you,” he says against Harry’s lips as he pulls back to breathe for a second before kissing him again.

His hands move towards Harry’s belt, attempting to fumble it open without any of his usual skill.

Before he manages to get it open, Harry’s hand comes down to stop him.

“Ah, I wouldn’t.”

He looks up at Harry, trying unsuccessfully to mask the hurt he feels with confusion. “You ain’t interested, really bruv? ‘Cause that ain’t fucking fair. You get me all worked up and then you wanna call it off?”

“It’s not that. I am rather more _armed_ than what I’m sure your usual type is,” Harry explains, “I wouldn’t want to accidentally injure you any more than you already are.”

There were a lot of words Eggsy could have latched onto, but for some reason the only ones he can really focus on are, “My _usual_?”

Harry’s face turns the barest shade of red at that.

“You implied before-“

“Oh fuck, Harry, I was just fucking with you,” Eggsy says, suddenly catching Harry’s tone.

“Pardon?”

“I said that rent boy shit just to watch you get flustered, figured you were some hyper closeted areshole and wanted to get a rise outta you, yeah? Pretty fucking glad I got that wrong.”

“I-” Harry starts, then stops, his eyes having  grown darker in the second following Eggsy’s words. There is clear need in his gaze, but also a hint of uncertainty. “Eggsy, I don’t want this to be something you’re doing because you feel that you owe me.”

His concern would almost be charming if Eggsy weren’t painfully hard and desperate.

“Harry, I want you to fuck me ‘cause you’re fit as all hell,” Eggsy says, “not because of some fucked up hero complex. I want you because I want you. That’s it.”

He expects more debate because Harry’s got that expression on his face that says ‘this isn’t over’, but he kisses him before Harry can get the words out, trying to communicate everything he can’t express in words.

This time he isn’t denied, not if the way Harry’s hands tighten against Eggsy’s hips is any indication.

He hates to break their kiss, but there’s something he’s wanted to do since he first ran into Harry.

“I want to blow you,” Eggsy says, switching their position so it’s Harry back against the door, before dropping down to his knees.

Harry doesn’t seem to need any prompting, opening his belt and tugging his pants down just low enough to reveal his cock.

“I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,” Eggsy says, because that’s what this is about. He’s greeted with the quietest of groans, and that’s not enough - Eggsy wants more, he wants to hear every sound Harry can make.

He wants to break the composure Harry has been wearing like armor since they first met and feel the heavy weight of him against his tongue.

Still, he’s going to enjoy himself with this.

For a second he hovers, his lips just barely brushing against the head of Harry’s cock, pressing the softest of kisses there.

Harry’s voice sounds nearly broken when he says, “You tease,” and this time Eggsy opens his mouth a bit so he can press his tongue to the head.

He pulls back, when above him he hears a Harry make a noise. As he looks up through his lashes to meet Harry’s eyes, he notices that Harry is not looking at him, but rather at the ceiling, his expression unreadable at this angle.

That won’t do at all.

“Look at me,” he says, and when Harry complies, he holds their eye contact steady before wrapping his mouth around Harry’s length.

He’s greeted with a satisfied moan in reply before Harry’s hand finds its way to the back of his head, holding him in place as though Eggsy would even think about stopping.

He wouldn’t and he means to prove that, hollowing his cheeks and sucking Harry deeper inside of him, relaxing his throat so that he can swallow Harry down.

The hand in his hair tightens, and there’s a question there, silent and yet still understood as clearly as if he had actually said the words.

Eggsy can’t really respond, not with Harry’s cock between his lips, but he manages to get a hand free and offers a thumbs up in reply.

A second later Harry’s thrusting into his mouth with ease and _this_ was what he had wanted from the beginning.

His throat is going to be sore in the morning, but he couldn’t care less, not when he can feel every movement Harry makes inside him.

He could be satisfied from this, he really could. He’s hard in his jeans, and with the hand that’s not clutching at Harry pressing down against his own cock, he is certain he could come like this: on his knees without Harry ever touching him.

He almost wants to do just that.

But with everything built up between them so far, coming that easily doesn’t seem like enough, and Harry must think the same.

The hand against his head pulls him back gently, and Eggsy tries to convey his confusion in his features because there’s no way he can find his words right now.

Harry is in a similar state, completely _wrecked_ and yet still fully dressed, standing there in his hardly rumpled suit.

His voice is low as he says,“I thought you said something about wanting to be fucked?”

That wasn’t even fair.

Eggsy nods his head, his throat still too raw to speak

“Couch, now.” It’s a command, but it’s given with a hint of fondness. “And strip.”

“Yes, Harry,” Eggsy manages this time. He had meant his tone to be teasing, but the words come off as desperate instead as he struggles to his feet and somehow finds his way to Harry’s sofa.

Really that’s an accomplishment in itself, for as Eggsy had been moving, he had done his best to shed his layers of clothing as quickly as possible. The jacket he had borrowed from Harry had found its way to the floor, and his jeans are fully tugged off by the time he makes it to the sofa, leisurely leaning back against the cushions .

Harry is not nearly as quick.

He watches as Harry strips, grabbing condoms and a bottle of lube from his jacket pocket before carefully removing his clothing and _weapons_ with a practised ease.

“Somebody’s prepared.”

He gets no answer other than Harry’s raised eyebrow.

Harry should look hot and desperate, but instead he somehow manages to look the picture of composure as he carefully foldshis shirt over the back of a chair.

That probably shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does.

He waits until Harry finishes before he speaks.

“I have to be on top,” Eggsy says, hating how his voice shakes. While everything else had been fine, _this_ was going to make or break the whole affair. He looks anxiously up towards Harry as he explains, “I’ll ride you, yeah, but I have to be on top. It’s a thing.”  

The set of eyes that meet his are far kinder than Eggsy feels he deserves. The look on Harry’s face is not one of pity, but of understanding.

Harry seems to calculate his answer before responding, eventually nodding his head at whatever conclusions he has reached.

“Eggsy, if you want to stop-”

“Stopping is the last thing I want in the fucking world.”

“In that case,” Harry smiles once more, “where were we?"

That understanding is worth everything, and Eggsy means to prove it to him. He moves up off the couch to pull Harry towards him, tugging him in for yet another kiss even though he wants so much more than that.

Eggsy takes the lube from Harry’s hands, distracting him and using that temporary advantage to push Harry back into the sofa cushions.

There’s a second where Eggsy fumbles the bottle open with every intention of opening himself up, before Harry stops him.

“Do you mind if I-?” Harry starts to ask.

His reply of, “Please,” is nothing if not desperate.

It’s been awhile since he’s done _this_ with anyone, normally preferring to be on top in both meanings of the word, but then again Harry has a way of making him want things he normally doesn’t.

Still, he’s knows he’s going to be tight when he feels Harry’s fingers press into him. He does his best to relax as he feels the pressure against his hole stretching him to his breaking point.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine,” Eggsy says, waiting for the burn to turn to pleasure, as it inevitably does. “More than fine, fuck Harry, you’re so-” his voice breaks, the words tumbling over each other as he tries to remember how to breath, “Fuck- it’s not even fair.”

The two fingers are joined by a third, and any chance at coherent thought flies out the window.

It’s all he can do to keep himself propped up on his elbows as Harry fingers him.

“I need,” Eggsy manages, and it’s the most he can get out at the moment, but of course Harry understands.

Harry’s fingers withdraw from his body, and it takes all of Eggsy’s willpower not to whimper at the loss.

Instead he busies himself with sliding the condom down over Harry’s cock, coating him in lube, and listening to the soft gasps of pleasure his actions elicit.

It’s tight going in from a slight lack of preparation, which is why he takes it slow, edging downwards in careful movements. Eggsy is so desperate for it that he doesn’t even mind the burn, the feeling of being full of Harry’s cock blinding out any hint of discomfort.

They’re slow finding their rhythm, but soon enough Eggsy is moving with ease.  Harry thrusts up to meet his movements, pounding into him without restraint. The resulting pressure is just the right balance between too much and not enough.

As if sensing this, Harry’s hand ends up on Eggsy’s cock, giving him something to thrust into. The hand on his cock is just tight enough to leave him shaking with pleasure, barely able to keep his body steady and upright above Harry.

One of the many advantages of their position is that Eggsy can watch Harry’s face as he loses any remaining hint of composure. His hair is wild about his face, eyes dark and just as intent on watching Eggsy.

This means he can see the exact second it becomes too much, before Harry even opens his mouth to warn him. His hands grip tighter around Eggsy’s hips to the point of near bruising, and the quiet noises he had been making fall away into something louder that almost sounds like Eggsy’s name.

And that is what finally does Eggsy in.

He comes only seconds after Harry.

There’s a moment that feels almost too intense, right before it all crashes down. His whole body tenses, and his come spurts over their chests as waves of pleasure run through him.

After what seems like an age, he finally sags forward onto Harry’s chest.

This time when they kiss it’s slower and with less finesse, but it’s perfect - the best Eggsy’s ever had.

He could lie there for the rest of eternity, but Harry has other plans.

“We should get up,” he half-heartedly lips against Eggsy’s shoulder, barely committed to the cause.

“Later,” Eggsy promises. “Give me a sec, yeah? Pretty sure you broke me.”

“Perhaps if you’re indisposed we could relocate to somewhere more comfortable?”

“Like a bed?”

“I was thinking perhaps a shower might be in order first.”

“Oh, is _that_ what you were thinking?”

“Eggsy, I feel as though I should warn you, my refractory period isn’t quite what it used to be.”

He smirks up at Harry, “It’s okay, love, I can work with that.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Harry’s not used to sleeping with anybody else.

He’s never been able to trust anyone enough to have considered a situation such as this possible, which is probably why he’s awake the second Eggsy starts to move.

The sun hasn’t yet entirely risen, but Eggsy hardly seems to mind as he gets up and stretches his arms over his head.

Through Harry’s barely cracked open eyes he appreciates the sight of the long lines of Eggsy’s body pulling taut in one moment before relaxing the next.

The morning before he hadn’t been able to find Eggsy until the day had gotten started, and two days ago he had seen  Eggsy’s _habits_ all too clearly.

Harry expects that now, the soft padding of feet against carpet as Eggsy makes his way out to the balcony for his morning smoke, but the movement never comes.

Instead he’s greeted with a soft murmur.

“You fucking broke me, Harry.”

Apparently he hadn’t been as good at pretending to sleep as he’d thought.

“I take it that’s a no to round two,” Harry teases.

“More like round _four_ ,” Eggsy corrects, “and that ain’t a no.”

Last night had certainly been one for the record books.

A repeat performance would certainly be worthwhile, and if given the opportunity he certainly wouldn’t say no.

Unfortunately Eggsy’s bedroom eyes will have to wait for another time, as they have far too much to do today.

“Don’t,” he says, stopping Eggsy with a finger pressed to his lips, before he can move any closer.

Harry is greeted with an expression that could only be classified as adorably disgruntled, before it smoothes into a smirk.  The lips against his fingers part so that an incredibly pink tongue can dart out and circle the digits.

He doesn’t groan in response, but it’s a near thing.

Thankfully, Eggsy pulls back, grinning at him, before Harry can lose too much of his composure.

“What’s that you was saying?”

“You have morning breath,” Harry says, wrinkling his nose slightly, “and I need a cup of tea before we even start to think about anything else.”

“Okay, but after?”

“There’s also the matter of what we learned last night.”

“You mean how flexible I am, or the fact that your shower rod is fucking breakable?”

“I mean the part where people I work with may be associating with terrorists and planning to assassinate powerful political figures.”

Eggsy groans, “Way to be a mood-killer.”

“I apologize,” Harry says in an only slightly teasing tone, as he presses a soft kiss to Eggsy’s cheek. “Now brush your teeth and join me downstairs for breakfast.”

“You’re domestic as fuck, Harry,” Eggsy points out, but he’s grinning slightly, clearly not intending his words as an insult.

“I shall endeavor to take that as a compliment.”

“You would.” He shrugs, before asking, “You mind if I hop in the shower real quick?”

“Not at all, my dear boy.”

“And maybe you could join me,” Eggsy asks, waggling his eyebrows in a manner which should not be as charming as it is.

“Best not to,” Harry says, doing his best not to focus on Eggsy’s pout. “Remember, breakfast first.”

He gets a half-hearted mumble in reply, but he figures it’s the best he’s going to get from Eggsy.

It takes a bit of searching before finds his glasses, discarded on a table in his sitting room (a room which is going to need a thorough cleaning if he survives the next twenty-four hours). He quickly wipes the finger print smudges off the frames before settling them onto his face.

There’s no message flashing across the display, which is alarming to say the least.

In fact, after a few moments of fiddling with the various settings he quickly comes to the conclusion that they’re not connecting to Kingsman servers.

Finding his phone is the next best option, and he shoots off a coded message to Merlin asking for some sort of explanation for his malfunctioning glasses.

Before he can get a reply from Merlin, he hears feet stomping down his steps and he looks up to meet Eggsy’s eyes.

Eggsy’s wet hair is sticking flat to his face, and he’s wearing naught but pants (probably Harry’s) and a button-down with incorrectly matched up buttons (most certainly Harry’s).

It certainly makes for a wonderful picture, one that Harry aches desperately to mess up again.

Resisting that urge really should be a point towards his self-restraint. Though it becomes easier when he remembers the doubts he had attempted to express the night before, the questions that Eggsy had quickly brushed aside in favor of rough kisses and rougher hands.

In the absence of anything business related to discuss, Harry decides to  broach the topic again.

“I thought you said you was gonna put on some tea,” Eggsy says. “You forget where the kettle is?”

“Ah yes, I’d forgotten,” he offers. It’s a weak excuse, and he makes no move to actually turn on the kettle. Eggsy notices this easily enough, finishing making his way down the steps to stand by Harry’s side and cautiously rest a hand against his shoulder.

“You alright?”

“I thought we might talk about something,” he says, voice soft and gentle so as not to spook Eggsy.

It doesn’t work.

He can see the second the tension settles over Eggsy, the way he seems smaller all at once, bringing his arm back to tuck against himself.

“Your Q guy find out some bad stuff?”

Of course that was where his mind would jump to; it was only logical given the circumstances, but it was misdirected.

“Ah, not yet,” Harry says, wishing this topic wasn’t such an awkward one,. “I had actually hoped to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

It was like his words flipped a switch, as Eggsy’s posture suddenly went from worried to defensive.

Already a sign of bad things to come.

“I told you I didn’t fucking know anything else, and it’s like the Professor said I was in the wrong fucking place at the wrong fucking time. I ain’t nobody special, alright, I know that-“

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Harry cuts him off, before they can get away from the point.

“You wasn’t?”

“No.”

Eggsy says nothing in reply, just looks at him warily.

His expression almost makes Harry not want to push, to let the topic drop for the time being, but he can’t get rid of the nagging feeling in the back of his head.

He starts gently, hoping to easy Eggsy into it.

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Fucking hurts,” he says, eyes narrowing as if he can sense Harry’s train of thought.

“There’s Nurofen in the medicine cabinet if you’d like,” Harry offers.

“Already took some,” Eggsy replies. “You’re not asking about that though, are you.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Of fucking course not.” He’s angry this time. “Look Harry, just be a bruv and drop it, yeah?”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that in good conscience.”

“Good _conscience_? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Eggsy, I don’t want to fight with you, I want to help-“

“I don’t need your help!” As soon as the words are out of his mouth though he seems to reconsider them, and specifies, “Not with this. I got my issues, yeah? But they’re mine and I can deal with them, so just don’t fucking bother pretending like you give a shit.”

“I’m not pretending,” Harry insists, because that is the last thing he would do.

The concern he feels for Eggsy is far too real, startlingly so.

“Look, Harry, I’ve seen these sorts of movies, yeah?”

“Pardon?”

“The fucking fit spy and the useless eye candy that’s there for the obligatory X-rated  scene,” Eggsy says. “I’m fucking fine being the damsel in distress or whatever the fuck role I’m supposed to be playing, but don’t fucking think for a second that I don’t know how this ends.”

“I believe you’re misunderstanding my intentions.”

“I’m not about to unload all my fucking problems on you just ‘cause you was a good shag-“

“If you keep putting up walls, we’re not going to get anywhere-”

“We never were to begin with. I know I’m not worth shit, wrong place at the wrong fucking time, yeah? Just figure I might as well enjoy all this before I get offed, ya know?”

He’s not sure what to say; not sure where to begin, which mistake to correct first.

When he takes a step forward towards Eggsy, he sees that flinch, the same one from his office: it wasn’t pain, but rather _fear_.

Realizing that he had missed this reaction before made Harry hate himself.

“Eggsy, I-”

The world, it seems, is not going to let things go in his favor, for as soon as the words leave his lips the shrill ringing of his phone fills the room.

He was really going to have to have a talk with Merlin when this was all said and done about his poor timing.

“I need to take that,” Harry says regretfully.

“Yeah, I’ll put on the kettle,” Eggsy says, though he doesn’t  actually move to do so, clearly not wanting to leave the room.

Harry  stares at him for a short moment more, before he grabs his phone off the end table and raises it to his ear. “Please give me good news.”

“Arthur knows you found out, I disabled your glasses before they could use the GPS tracker, and we’ve got about fifteen hours before they enact a phase labeled as V-Day, a plan I coincidentally can’t seem to hack.”

“Shit,” Harry says before adding, “I thought I asked for good news.”

“I hear you got laid,” Merlin offers.

“Right, forget the good news,” Harry says, his eyes flicking over to where Eggsy is giving him a questioning glance. “You said fifteen hours before the world goes to ruin?”

He’s saying it more for Eggsy’s benefit than anything else.

Merlin sensing this gives a half-hearted, “Yes,” in reply.

“Where are you?”

Merlin doesn’t answer the question straight away, instead saying, “You remember Percival’s niece? The one we suspected might be an arms dealer?”

“Vaguely,” Harry offers in return.

“She’s definitely an arms dealer.”

“Right. We’ll be there in twenty,” Harry says, leaving no room for debate on the _we_ factor of that statement, before ending the phone call.

“We?” Eggsy says, only slightly questioning.

“I thought you might want a promotion from Bond girl to dashing sidekick.”

It’s a peace offering for now; a promise to put off that conversation until later, until they’ve put the world back in order.

“As long as you don’t make me wear no fucking spandex, yeah?”

“I was thinking a bespoke suit might be more fitting for the occasion.”

  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who is super stoked about that leaked HD? I am! That's who! (Anyways enjoy this chapter as I go rewatch the movie for the 80th time)

The cab ride from Harry’s home to his contact’s flat is near silent. He almost starts the fight up with Harry again, just because at least then they would actually be talking.

Instead he asks stupid, meaningless questions about what the plan is and where they’re going and gets one word ‘classified’ answers in return.

It fucking sucks.

This wasn’t how he’d pictured his morning turning out.

Eggsy’s morning plan had been more along the lines of sleepy sex and less uncomfortable conversations and trips to the homes of arms dealers.

But as he should have learned days ago, nothing in his life seems to be working out the way he wants it to.

Things happen quickly once they make it to the flat

He’s introduced to a stern looking bald man, apparently the ever interrupting Merlin (“Call me Q one more time, I dare you”), and a cheerful looking young woman (“Roxanne, though really just Roxy, please”).

Before he knows it he’s being whisked into some bedroom by Roxy, while Merlin and Harry remain in the other room to discuss plans.

“It’s just gonna be the four of us then,” Eggsy says, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets in an attempt to act casual.

“Apparently,” Roxy nods. “My uncle’s in Argentina on a job and can’t make it back in time, which is why Merlin got in contact with me. As far as everyone else goes…” She trails off, making herself busy around the room rather than finishing that sentence.

He has a feeling that’s probably for the best, if the frown she wears for a brief moment is any sort of indicator.

“So, you’re a spy too,” Roxy asks, pulling what looks like a grenade launcher out from her trunk.

“More like I was in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time.”

For a second he expects that she’ll give him the same look of pity Harry’s had on his face for the past few hours, but instead she just shrugs her shoulders and says, “Well, looks like it all worked out.”

“It’s not the worst thing ever,” he admits. “Kinda better than what I normally do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Drug dealer.”

She grins at that, adjusting her grip on the grenade launcher, “Arms dealer.”

“You know, you’re a bit scary. Not in a bad way, just fucking scary.”

“I honestly try,” she replies. “Grenade launcher?”

“Seems a bit much, yeah?”

Roxy seems to contemplate that for a second before offering, “Pistol?”

“That I can work with.”

He ends up with a hand grenade instead of the launcher, two pistols, a switchblade, and a bunch of stuff he’s never even dreamed of and only vaguely understands.

The kind of stuff straight out of every cheesy action film he watched as a kid.

Sure, Eggsy may think the suit is a little over the top - he isn’t a gentleman spy, being neither a gentleman nor a spy - but he has to admit the reflection in the mirror looks good.

“I look fucking ace,” he says, letting out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Yeah, you’ll do,” she agrees, brushing her hands over his shoulders to smooth the suit down. “It’s not the best fit; you’re a bit broader than Uncle Percy, but it’s better than borrowing one of Galahad’s.”

Eggsy nods vaguely, his eyes still trained on the reflection in the mirror. He looks like a completely different person: gone is the drug dealing chav, and in his place is something right out of one of those James Bond films.

“You gonna help me with the tie?” he asks, focusing on the one unfinished part of the attire.

“Oh no, I couldn’t,” she says, in a tone that is clearly faux-innocent, and with a mischievous grin on her face. “Perhaps you could ask Galahad to help you.”

The thought of that, Harry’s hands gently at his throat, knotting his tie - it’s probably bad how much the idea of that turns him on.

Especially considering that Harry hasn’t talked much to him since they arrived at Roxy’s flat, or really since Merlin’s phone call.

They’re fighting, he supposes, which is rubbish because the way this is looking, Eggsy won’t be coming out of this fight unharmed  - sure he may have the bulletproof suit and the fucking grenade launcher, but that doesn’t mean much compared to his inexperience.

When he meets his eyes in the mirror again, he’s noticeably paler than he had been moments before. Roxy seems to sense that something’s wrong because a second later she’s offering, “I can do it for you, if you’d really rather.”

“Nah, I’ll,” he swallows, throat suddenly dry, “I’ll have Harry do it, yeah?”

She shrugs her shoulders as if to say ‘suit yourself’, before lacing his arm through hers and tugging him towards the door.

“Now let’s get you downstairs and show off my handiwork.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

If Eggsy had thought looking in the mirror at his reflection had been good, it was nothing compared to the look of appreciation that settles onto Harry’s face when they step back out into the main room.

The appraising gaze actually makes him feel good, and when Harry’s eyes finally reach his face, Eggsy can’t help himself from winking at Harry in reply.

“You can congratulate me now,” Roxy says, gesturing at Eggsy with a smug look on her face.

“Looking good, Eggsy,” Merlin says, his glance is a quick one, before returning to the maps and schematics in front of him.

“Feeling good, Merlin” Eggsy replies, with just a hint of cheek, before turning back to Harry, who still hasn’t managed to tear his eyes away from the suit.  “So what do ya think, bruv?”

“I,” Harry starts, then stops, his eyes meeting Eggsy’s again, “You, you look very well.”

He’d never thought eye contact could be so intense, but Harry’s eyes are dark, staring into Eggsy as though he’s mentally undressing him. Eggsy doesn’t go weak at the knees, but it’s a near thing.

“I suddenly remember something I have to do in the other room very urgently,” Roxy says, quickly. “Merlin, could you help me a sec?”

If they survive this Eggsy’s going to have to buy her flowers.

That girl deserves flowers.

Once they’re alone, he sort of expects Harry to say something (or fuck him. Really he’d go for either right now).

Instead, silence reigns for moments more, until Eggsy breaks it.

“I told her the suit was overdoing it a bit, but-”

“It’s perfect,” Harry says, cutting him off and stepping closer. “You’re perfect.”

“Try to keep it in your pants, yeah?” Eggsy teases. “I’m more armed than usual.”

The reply he gets is a kiss that’s hot and fast, and reminiscent of everything from the night before. Harry’s hands grab at his hips roughly, and when they brush against the holster, there’s a resulting moan into his mouth. He can already feel himself getting half hard in his fancy trousers.

If there weren’t a world to save, he would let Harry take him apart right now.

He’s definitely considering it by the time Harry finally pulls back, looking just a bit flushed.

“Truly remarkable.” 

“Don’t be a fucking sap,” Eggsy says, but the words have no bite behind him.

Harry holds him there for one second longer, before taking a half step backwards and readjusting Eggsy’s suit.

It’s a drastically different experience from when Roxy had done the same thing moments before, because this time every brush of Harry’s hands through the fabric causes a rush of heat to his face.

“At least I get to go out looking ace, yeah?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Harry says, voice low and dangerous. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He doesn’t doubt that Harry will, not when he looks like he would murder somebody for even laying a hand on Eggsy.

“Yeah well, look out for yourself first,” Eggsy insists stubbornly, “‘cause I really fucking like having you around.”

“Is that right?”

“I mean, you can be a bit of a prick sometimes,” he teases, “but you’re not half-bad. I guess I could get used to you.”

And when Harry smiles at him, Eggsy knows he made the right move.

“That could almost be a compliment.”

“It is,” Eggsy admits, before offering a small smile. “You saved my life, Harry.”

“From myself, technically.”

“Yeah, and fucking lot of other people too,” Eggsy reminds him, “so thanks for that.”

“You’re most welcome, Eggsy.”

“Listen, I know I ain’t worth much-”

“You’re worth everything to me.”

He’s not sure if Harry’s the hugging sort, they’ve never really managed to figure that out - everything that’s come up between them has been a rush, a wonderful one, one Eggsy wouldn’t give up for the world, but still a rush - so he honestly doesn’t know how Harry’s going to take it when he leans in and desperately holds onto him.

If this is it, he thinks he’d be happy with it.

This moment makes everything else they’ve been through worth it.

“Harry, I’m sorry about,” Eggsy starts, mumbling against his chest, “about all that shit. I didn’t want to fight with you right before we, you know?”

“Save the world?”

“Something like that,” he agrees.

Harry’s hand is light on his shoulder, and Eggsy looks up at the touch to meet Harry’s kind gaze.

There’s a soft press of lips against his, not the heated kissing they’d had moments before but something far more intimate.

It’s soft and slow, a promise of more to come.

A promise that Eggsy melts underneath the touch of.

“Don’t worry, my boy,” Harry says, when he pulls back.  “We’ll sort this all out when we get back.”


	15. Chapter 15

He’d never seen the shop so empty before.

That’s not to say that it was typically buzzing with life, as an organization such as theirs wasn’t one where sociable people tended to work, but there was usually something other than this unnerving echo of silence.

There’s a countdown clock on the inside of his glasses, a direct line from Merlin, who along with Eggsy should be remotely breaking into the computer system to give Harry a bit of an advantage while he broke into headquarters via the shop entrance.

The fitting room doors are predictably locked, but whether because it’s simply past hours or because they’d known he’d be coming is unclear. The lock itself is easy enough to pick, child’s play really, but the mirrors scanner proves to be a problem when it refuses to admit him after he presses his palm to the glass.

“That’s troubling. Merlin, could you be a dear and open this for me?”

There’s a huff of breath from the other side, before he gets a reply of, “Give me a second.”

“Of course,” Harry replies dryly, “Please take all the time you need.”

He can very easily imagine Merlin’s eye roll in return, and in the background of the feed he hears a huff of laughter that is unmistakably Eggsy’s.

The silence gets broken soon enough, Merlin’s voice crackling over the glasses comm line, “We’re in.”

Harry gets about ten seconds to feel relief before the door in front of him bursts open with the expected armed hostiles.

“I’m almost disappointed it took you so long,” Harry says, before getting to work.

Close combat has always been a specialty of his, but for the men in front of him that doesn’t seem to be the case.

The first of them goes down with a shot to the head, clear and easy, a mercy Harry’s certain they don’t deserve.

He wonders briefly if he should find the faces of the men in front of him familiar, people he might have passed in the halls of headquarters throughout the years. He pushes that thought from his mind almost as soon as it arises.

The second lands a bruising shot to Harry’s suit, before he delivers an identical gunshot to the head.

The third proves to be a bit more tricky; he gets close enough that Harry has to bring up his umbrella as a shield, but from there it’s only a matter of moments before he’s down with his fellows.

Two more fall in a similar fashion, the sixth gets his face smashed in a mirror when Harry runs low on bullets, while the seventh and eight are killed by a gun quickly grabbed off the ground.

The fight ends sooner than he expected, the men in front of him going down far too easily.

He would have expected more, and perhaps if they’d known Harry was coming surely it would have been somebody with actual skill coming to fight him, but instead he was left with the sort of dime a dozen mercenaries who hardly knew how to do their job.

It was a bit disappointing, if he was being honest with himself.

“I’m going in,” Harry says over the comms, and waits a second for confirmation before stepping through the now opened panel which will lead towards the underground entrance to headquarters.

Except confirmation never comes, and as his ears adjust to the silence once more, he notices the slight tone of static in the background.

“Merlin, status report,” Harry says, his voice just the slightest hint of urgent this time.

He reaches up, with the intention of checking to see if they’re broken, only to stop as a voice echoes over the line, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“You’re not Merlin.”

“A very astute assessment, Galahad.”

“What did you do to-”

“It’s a shame you had to get him involved in your little rebellion,” the familiar voice of Arthur carries over the comms. “Found him on the roof, he wasn’t alone though, was he?”

 _Eggsy_.

“I’ve got something I believe is yours,” Arthur continues. “He’s your usual type, lacking manners and about to die.”

“Fuck you, bruv,” another voice follows. “Don’t fucking listen to him Harry, I’m fine.”

He’s alive, alive enough to still be fighting back, and Harry lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding at the sound of that voice.

“You hear that, _Galahad_?” Arthur continues. “Why don’t you put your gun down and come to the dining room? We could have a talk like the gentlemen we are.”

Before Harry can come up with a scathing reply of his own the connection cuts out, static filling his ears for a moment before silence once more reigns.

He doesn’t put his gun down, but he follows the familiar path out of the dressing room and up the stairs behind the counter to where the dining room is.

Harry almost expects to meet hostiles on the way there, but there’s nobody standing in his way.

When he pushes open the door to the dining room, Arthur is there in his usual chair like this is any other day at work, the king and his court.

Except nothing is as it ought to be, because there’s a gun in Arthur’s hand, trained on a figure slumped over bruised and bloody in Harry’s usual seat.

“Let him go,” Harry says, his gun steadily trained on the head of his _former_ boss, “and I might let you live.”

“I wouldn’t be so hasty if I were you,” Arthur replies, moving his wrist ever so slightly, as though Harry could have missed where the gun was pointed. “Neither of us want this to get any messier than it needs to be.”

“Eggsy-” he starts, but is cut off a second later by Arthur.

“Your toy’s not dead yet. I thought you might want to do that yourself.”

“How gracious of you.”

“I would prefer not to kill you. Galahad, you’re a good assassin. We could use you on this project,” Arthur continues. “A person with your skills would be highly desirable. My only regret is not bringing you in sooner.”

“Do you really think that would have changed anything?”

“Of course, you’ve always been one of our most reasonable assets. No doubt you’re upset by being left out of the loop, blinded by mild infatuation, but there’s still time to fix things.”

“Yes there is,” Harry agrees, though their definitions of _fix things_ were drastically different.

“Can’t you see this would be much easier for everyone if you could have just finished the job?” Arthur says, tugging Eggsy up off the table’s surface, gun pressed to the side of his head.

There’s blood on his forehead and his lip is split, but when Eggsy’s eyes flicker open weakly to meet Harry there’s still that familiar defiance. Seeing that makes the decision all too easy.

“You could still finish the job, Galahad? Put all this mess behind us.”

“I think I just might.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

In situations like this, the people in movie’s always say that the world slows down.

Eggsy’s pretty sure the idiots that say that shit have never actually experienced a life or death moment.

The world doesn’t slow down, it speeds up into a series of blink-and-you-miss-it moments.

There’s Harry pressing his gun to Eggsy’s forehead like this is going to be it, saying meaningless words, that this is how it should have gone days ago, leaving Eggsy behind to bleed out in some alleyway. But meeting his eyes with the same intensity that he remembered from the night before, from when they were standing in Roxy’s living room-

“Run.”

One word, clear as day, a command that Eggsy can’t even begin to obey, even as Harry pushes him towards the door and turns his gun towards the posh bastard and-

A gunshot, loud, and he expects the pain to be rippling through him again except there’s nothing, there’s blood splattered across his jacket, but it’s not his own blood it’s-

Harry stumbling backwards from the impact, point blank like this there’s no way that he could be-

Grabbing Harry’s gun off the ground, but there’s no way he could run now, no way he’s leaving without Harry, either they’re both going down or Eggsy’s taking out the asshole that dared to hurt Harry-

And then it all slows down again, his hands shaking slightly as he brings the gun up the way he’s seen so many other’s do before. He’s not the damsel in distress anymore, not by a longshot, he’s the hero of the story, the gentlemen spy who says the witty one liner before taking the final shot.

“We both know you don’t have it in you to pull that trigger.”

“That’s where you’re fucking wrong, bruv.”

There’s a second there between ‘ _holy shit I just did it’_ and ‘ _take that you arsehole_ ,’ where he’s filled with righteous anger and everything seems right in the world, but the moment passes, and the feeling of satisfaction fades soon enough, the gun falling from his limp fingers to settle onto the table, because there’s one thing that’s still not right.

“Harry.”

And just like that the world comes crashing back to reality all at once, the anger edged away by panic, and desperation as he turns around and crouches down to Harry’s level.

“Please don’t be dead,” he all but begs. “Do this one last thing for me, and just fucking hang on, yeah?”

He can see a weak movement, eyelids flickering, and there’s still a chance. His glasses are gone, but Harry’s still got his, and on the off chance they’re transmitting, on the off chance Merlin would be able to get the signal from wherever he had gone off to before the goons had showed up.

There’s too many chances, too many what ifs.

But there’s a brief movement, Harry’s hand coming up to press lightly upon where Eggsy’s covering his bullet wound.

“You’re not allowed to die,” Eggsy says, pressing his hands down harder, because he’s pretty sure this is supposed to help, “You understand? Because I care about you a fucking lot, and you can’t make me care and then just leave? It ain’t fair, so don’t you dare die on me.”

 


	17. Epilogue

Harry has woken up in hospitals plenty times before, and so the sterile white walls and beepings of a heart monitor are immediately familiar.  

For a second though, he’s surprised, as he pieces back his most recent memories. They’d been in the dining room, it had all gone to shit, there’d been gunshots and he’d told Eggsy to run but he hadn’t, he’d-

“Eggsy,” he forces the word out of tight lungs and a throat sore from disuse and is greeted a second later by a reassuring squeeze of a hand in his own and a soft familiar voice reassuring him.

“I’m here.”

A feeling of relief settles over him at once, because if Eggsy’s here that means they’re safe.

That they _won_.

The how’s and why’s are unanswered questions in his head, but at the moment they’re irrelevant; what matters is that they’re both safe.

There’s a plastic cup of water being pushed into his hand, and he has half a mind to express his thanks, but the sound is mumbled and barely there as he takes a sip of the drink he desperately needed.

Mentally he takes stock of his own body: the slow dull throb of pain in his chest, from where he was shot. He remembers that now, the shot deliberately aimed at the collar of the shirt, shot by somebody well aware of his suit’s bulletproof capabilities. And then Eggsy’s face above him, hands pressing to his wound, telling him to hold on before the blackness has taken over.

Harry almost doesn’t want to know the answer, but he still finds himself asking, “What happened to-”

“I shot the fucker,” Eggsy answers the unfinished question, “right in the fucking head. Merlin said it was a bit much, but he deserved it.”

“Yes, I imagine that he did.”

“He hurt you Harry, ain’t nobody allowed to fucking do that. I thought for a second that you-” Eggsy stops, drawing his his hands away from Harry for a moment as if to close in on himself.

Before he can do so, Harry reaches out between them, holding Eggsy’s hand securely in his own, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not.”

“I promise,” Harry says, because he does. If there’s one promise in his life that he plans on keeping it’s this one.

“Good,” Eggsy replies after a moment, his voice tight, “‘cause I’d never forgive you if you did.”

“Oh, Eggsy-”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he cuts in, this time meeting Harry’s eyes so his desperation can be seen, “yeah?”

“As am I,” Harry reassures him, before asking, “Would you mind being a dear and telling me what else I missed?”

“We saved the world,” Eggsy says, his soft voice fading and being replaced by a significantly more excited one, “you missed it ‘cause you nearly got offed and all. I mean, Merlin and Rox did most the heavy lifting, so they could tell it better, but I shot the big bad, so I’m taking credit for all that saving the world shite.”

“Sounds like quite the adventure.”

“You was there for the important parts. I just finished the job,” he teases.

“I supposed that would make me the Bond Girl,” Harry asks, “wouldn’t it?”

There’s a hint a smile there, before Eggsy replies, “You bet your arse you are!”

“Well then,” Harry drawls, “how shall I reward my most gracious hero?”

“Oh I could think of a few ways,” Eggsy replies with a little smirk, “but doc said no physical exertion for a while.”

“Shame,” Harry agrees, knowing there will be time for that later. “Anything I can do in the mean time?”

“Maybe a kiss, yeah? The heroes normally get those in the end, don’t they?”

“That they do,” Harry replies, rubbing a small circle onto the back of the hand caught in his grasp, before bringing it up to his lips. For a second he lets his breath just ghost over the skin before him, but then he presses his lips softly to the back of Eggsy’s hand, watching the way the boy’s cheeks color ever so slightly. “How was that?”

“Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Ah,” Harry replies, his lips still barely hovering over the hand before him, “perhaps you could show me what exactly it was that you had in mind?”

That gets a reaction out of Eggsy, his whole face shifting into a bright grin, before there are fingers against Harry’s robe tugging him up softly for a real kiss this time, one which had been rather long overdue.

There’s no real heat, no rush or urgency as they run on fear of not having enough time to savor the moment. Instead there is a feeling of soft lingering, a reassurance that _this is real_ as well as a promise of plenty more to come.

He imagines that he could live in that kiss forever.

And perhaps he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S IT GUYS, THIS IS THE END! I hope you have all enjoyed this ride as much as I've enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> A big thank you to everyone whose read along, commented, kudos-ed, and just generally been an awesome. Extra special thank yous to my wonderful beta's Ali and Liz, thank you for correcting all my terrible grammar and making this fic readable for the public eyes, you two rock! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://plinys.co.vu)!


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